THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 

OF 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


VTith  Illustrations  by 

EDMUND    DULAC 


NEW   ^JB^  YORK 
GEORGE   H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


PRINTED   IN   THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AMERICA 


PS 

3k  05 
fll 
1-92-1 


CONTENTS 


THE  BELLS  ....  13 

EULALIE — A  SONG  .  .  .  .21 

ANNABEL  LEE          .  .  .  .23 

SONNET — SILENCE    .  .  .  .27 

THE  RAVEN  ....  29 

To  ONE  IN  PARADISE  .  41 

LENORE     .  \  .  .  .  .44 

DREAMS    .....  48 

To  HELEN  (I  saw  thee  once — once  only — years  ago)  51 

THE  HAUNTED  PALACE  .  .  56 

A  DREAM  WITHIN  A  DREAM   .  .  .60 

THE  CITY  IN  THE  SEA  .  62 

w 


1896657 


CONTENTS 


To  F f  i  .  .  .  66 

THE  SLEEPER  .  ,  .  v  68 

ULALUME  .  .  .  .  73 

ROMANCE  .  . '  .  .  80 

SONNET — TO  SCIENCE  ...  82 

ELDORADO  .  .  .  .  83 

To  M. (O !  I  care  not  that  my  earthly  lot)        * '  86 

THE  CONQUEROR  WORM         ...  88 

SONNET — To  ZANTE  ...  91 

To  M.  L.  S. .  .  .  .92 

To  THE  RIVER •  •  •  '94 

A  DREAM  .  .  .  .96 

AL  AARAAF  ....  98 

To  F s  S.   O D  .  .  .125 

BRIDAL  BALLAD         ....          126 
To  MY  MOTHER      ....          129 

[vij 


CONTENTS 


To  HELEN  (Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me)  .               .  131 

THE  LAKE — To .              .              .  133 

THE  VALLEY  OF  UNREST        .               .               .  135 

THE  HAPPIEST  DAY,  THE  HAPPIEST  HOUR            .  137 

CATHOLIC  HYMN     ....  139 

To (Not  long  ago,  the  writer  of  these 

lines)  .  .  .  .  140 
EVENING  STAR  .  .  .  .142 
STANZAS  .  .  .  .  .144 

SPIRITS  OF  THE  DEAD               .              .              .  147 

ISRAFEL       .....  150 

SONG  (I  saw  thee  on  thy  bridal  day)         .                .  154 

To (The  bowers  whereat,  in  dreams,  I  see)     .  156 

FAIRY-LAND              ....  157 

THE  COLISEUM        ....  160 

DREAMLAND             ....  164 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

FOR  ANNIE  ....          168 

ALONE      .  .  .  .  .175 

TAMERLANE  .  .  .  .177 


[viii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  BELLS  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

THE  BELLS  ....  14 

THE  BELLS  18 

ANNABEL  LEE          .  .  .  .24 

SILENCE     .....  28 

THE  RAVEN  ....  34 

To  ONE  IN  PARADISE  ...  42 

LENORE     .....  46 

To  HELEN  (MRS.  WHITMAN)  ...  52 

THE  HAUNTED  PALACE  ...  56 

THE  CITY  IN  THE  SEA  ...  64 

[ix] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

•  -    j 

THE  SLEEPER 

?o 

ULALUME 

76 

ELDORADO                 .               .               ; 

84 

THE  CONQUEROR  WORM 

.       .     88 

To  THE  RIVER 

94 

AL  AARAAF 

104 

AL  AARAAF 

112 

BRIDAL  BALLAD 

126 

To  HELEN  (MRS.  STANNARD)  . 

132 

THE  VALLEY  OF  UNREST 

136 

TTn                          TlV-Tp0    l\yf  APTT?  T  OTTT^T?  ^TTTTTV^ 

I4O 

ISRAFEL       .... 

150 

FAIRY-LAND 

158 

DREAMLAND 

164 

ALONE      .... 

174 

TAMERLANE 

178 

TAMERLANE 

184 

[x] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 
EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF 
EDGAR   ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells 
i. 

HEAR  the  sledges  with  the  bells — 

Silver  bells! 

What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells ! 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars,  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens,  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

[13] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

To  the  tintinabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells — 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

II. 
Hear  the  mellow  wedding  bells, 

Golden  bells! 

What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  foretells ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight ! 
From  the  molten  golden-notes, 

And  all  in  tune, 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 

On  the  moon! 

Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells, 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells ! 

[14] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

How  it  swells! 
How  it  dwells 
On  the  Future !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells ! 


III. 

Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells — 

Brazen  bells! 

What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright! 

[15] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

Too  much  horrified  to  speak 
They  can  only  shriek,  shriek, 

Out  of  tune, 

In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire, 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic  fire, 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire, 
And  a  resolute  endeavour. 
Now — now  to  sit  or  never, 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 

Of  Despair! 

How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar! 
What  a  horror  they  outpour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air ! 
Yet  the  ear  it  fully  knows, 

[16] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

By  the  twanging, 
And  the  clanging, 
How  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows : 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells, 
In  the  jangling, 
And  the  wrangling, 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells, 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of  the  bells — 

Of  the  bells— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells— 
In  the  clamour  and  the  clangour  of  the  bells! 


IV. 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells- 
Iron  bells ! 


[17] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody  compels ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan. 

And  the  people — ah,  the  people — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone, 
And  who,  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  human — 
They  are  Ghouls: 

[18] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls ; 

And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 
Rolls 

A  paean  from  the  bells! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 

With  the  paean  of  the  bells ! 
And  he  dances,  and  he  yells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  paean  of  the  bells — 

Of  the  bells: 

Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 

To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Bells — CONTINUED 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 
In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme, 

To  the  rolling  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells: 

To  the  tolling  of  the  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells- 
Bells,  bells,  bells— 
To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. 


[20] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Eulalie — A  Song 

I  DWELT  alone 
In  a  world  of  moan, 
And  my  soul  was  a  stagnant  tide, 

Till  the  fair  and  gentle  Eulalie  became  my  blushing  bride — 
Till  the  yellow-haired  young  Eulalie  became  my  smiling 
bride. 

Ah,  less — less  bright 
The  stars  of  the  night 
Than  the  eyes  of  the  radiant  girl ! 
And  never  a  flake 
That  the  vapour  can  make 
With  the  moon-tints  of  purple  and  pearl, 
Can  vie  with  the  modest  Eulalie's  most  unregarded  curl — 

[21] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A   Song — CONTINUED 

Can  compare  with  the  bright-eyed  Eulalie's  most  humble 
and  careless  curl. 

Now  doubt — now  Pain 
Come  never  again, 
For  her  soul  gives  me  sigh  for  sigh, 
And  all  day  long 
Shines,  bright  and  strong, 
Astarte  within  the  sky, 

While  ever  to  her  dear  Eulalie  upturns  her  matron  eye — 
While  ever  to  her  young  Eulalie  upturns  her  violet  eye. 


[22] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Annabel  Lee 

IT  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  there  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  ANNABEL  LEE  ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 


I  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  which  was  more  than  love — 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee ; 

[23] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Annabel  Lee — CONTINUED 

With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 
Coveted  her  and  me. 


And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 
In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 

A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 

So  that  her  highborn  kinsmen  came 
And  bore  her  away  from  me, 

To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 


The  angels,  not  half  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me — 
Yes ! — that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

[24] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Annabel  Lee — CONTINUED 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night, 
Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we — 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we — 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 


For  the  moon  never  beams  without  bringing  me  dreams 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
And  the  stars  never  rise  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  ; 

[25] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Annabel  Lee — CONTINUED 

And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 

Of  my  darling — my  darling — my  life  and  my  bride, 

In  her  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea, 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 


[26] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Sonnet — Silence 

THERE  are  some  qualities — some  incorporate  things, 

That  have  a  double  life,  which  thus  is  made 
A  type  of  that  twin  entity  which  springs 

From  matter  and  light,  evinced  in  solid  and  shade. 
There  is  a  two-fold  Silence — sea  and  shore — 

Body  and  soul.    One  dwells  in  lonely  places, 

Newly  with  grass  o'ergrown ;  some  solemn  graces, 
Some  human  memories  and  tearful  lore, 
Render  him  terrorless :  his  name's  "No  More." 
He  is  the  corporate  Silence :  dread  him  not ! 

No  power  hath  he  of  evil  in  himself ; 
But  should  some  urgent  fate  (untimely  lot!) 

[27] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Sonnet — Silence — CONTINUED 

Bring  thee  to  meet  his  shadow  (nameless  elf, 
That  haunteth  the  lone  regions  where  hath  trod 
No  foot  of  man),  commend  thyself  to  God! 


[28] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The   Raven 

ONCE  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and 

weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten 

lore, 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a 

tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber 

door. 
Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "tapping  at  my  chamber 

door — 

Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

[29] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 

And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the 
floor. 

Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow; — vainly  I  had  sought  to  bor 
row 

From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow  for  the  lost 
Lenore — 

For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name 
Lenore — 

Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  cur 
tain 

Thrilled  me — filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt 
before ; 

So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  re 
peating, 

[30] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance   at  my  chamber 

door — 
Some    late   visitor   entreating   entrance    at   my    chamber 

door ; — 

This  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 


Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 

"Sir,"  said  I,  "or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  im 
plore  ; 

But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came 
rapping, 

And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber 
door, 

That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you," — here  I  opened  wide 
the  door; — 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

[31] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there  won 
dering,  fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortals  ever  dared  to 
dream  before ; 

But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no 
token, 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word, 
"Lenore!" 

This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word, 
"Lenore!"— 

Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me 
burning, 

Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  somewhat  louder  than  be 
fore. 

"Surely,"  said  I,  "surely  that  is  something  at  my  window 
lattice : 

[32] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is,  and  this  mystery  ex 
plore — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery  explore ; — 
'Tis  the  wind  and  nothing  more." 


Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and 

flutter, 

In  there  stepped  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore ; 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he;  not  a  minute  stopped  or 

stayed  he; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber 

door — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber 

door — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

[33] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 
"Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "art 

sure  no  craven, 
Ghastly   grim   and   ancient   raven   wandering    from   the 

Nightly  shore — 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian 

shore!" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so 

plainly, 

Though  its  answer  little  meaning — little  relevancy  bore; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blest  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber 

door — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber 

door, 

With  such  name  as  "Nevermore." 

[34] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

But  the  raven,  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke 
only 

That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  out 
pour. 

Nothing  further  then  he  uttered — not  a  feather  then  he 
fluttered — 

Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "other  friends  have 
flown  before — 

On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown 
before." 

Then  the  bird  said,  "Nevermore." 

Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
"Doubtless,"  said  I,  "what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and 

store, 
Caught   from   some   unhappy  master   whom   unmerciful 

Disaster 

[35] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

Followed    fast   and    followed    faster    till    his    songs    one 

burden  bore — 
Till   the   dirges   of   his    Hope   that   melancholy   burden 

bore 

Of  'Never — nevermore/  " 


But  the  Raven  still  beguiling  all  my  fancy  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and 

bust  and  door; 
Then    upon    the    velvet    sinking,    I    betook    myself    to 

linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of 

yore — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,   gaunt  and  ominous 

bird  of  yore 

Meant  in  croaking  "Nevermore." 

[36] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

This    I    sat   engaged   in    guessing,    but   no    syllable    ex 
pressing 

To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's 
core ; 

This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  re 
clining 

On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamplight  gloated 
o'er, 

But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamplight  gloating 
o'er, 

She  shall  press,  ah,  nevermore! 


Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an 

unseen  censer 
Swung  by  Seraphim  whose  footfalls  tinkled  on  the  tufted 

floor. 

[37] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

"Wretch,"  I  cried,  "thy  God  hath  lent  thee — by  these  angels 

he  hath  sent  thee 
Respite — respite   and   nepenthe,    from   thy   memories    of 

Lenore ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe  and  forget  this  lost 

Lenore !" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore !" 

"Prophet!"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil! — prophet  still,  if  bird 
or  devil! — 

Whether  Tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee 
here  ashore, 

Desolate    yet    all    undaunted,    on    this    desert    land    en 
chanted — 

On    this    home    by    horror    haunted — tell    me    truly,    I 
implore — 

Is   there — is  there   balm   in   Gilead? — tell   me — tell   me, 
I  implore!" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

[38] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

"Prophet!"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil — prophet  still,  if  bird 

or  devil ! 
By  that  Heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that  God  we 

both  adore — 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the  distant 

Aidenn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  name 

Lenore — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name 

Lenore." 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 


"Be  that  word  our  sign  in  parting,  bird  or  fiend,"   I 

shrieked,  upstarting — 
"Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plutonian 

shore ! 

[39] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Raven — CONTINUED 

Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath 

spoken ! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken ! — quit  the  bust  above  my 

door! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from 

off  my  door!" 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "Nevermore." 

And   the   Raven,   never   flitting,   still   is   sitting,    still   is 

sitting 

On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is 

dreaming, 
And  the  lamplight  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow 

on  the  floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on 

the  floor 

Shall  be  lifted — nevermore! 

[40] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  One  in  Paradise 

THOU  wast  all  that  to  me,  love, 
For  which  my  soul  did  pine — 

A  green  isle  in  the  sea,  love, 
A  fountain  and  a  shrine, 

All  wreathed  with  fairy  fruits  and  flowers, 
And  all  the  flowers  were  mine. 


Ah,  dream  too  bright  to  last ! 

Ah,  starry  Hope!  that  didst  arise 
But  to  be  overcast! 


[41] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  One  in  Paradise — CONTINUED 

A  voice  from  out  the  Future  cries, 
"On!  on!' —but  o'er  the  Past 

(Dim  gulf!)  my  spirit  hovering  lies 
Mute,  motionless,  aghast! 


For,  alas!  alas!  with  me 

The  light  of  Life  is  o'er! 

"No  more — no  more — no  more — " 
(Such  language  holds  the  solemn  sea 

To  the  sands  upon  the  shore) 
Shall  bloom  the  thunder-blasted  tree 

Or  the  stricken  eagle  soar! 


And  all  my  days  are  trances, 
And  all  my  nightly  dreams 

[42] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  One  in  Paradise — CONTINUED 

Are  where  thy  grey  eye  glances, 

And  where  thy  footstep  gleams — 
In  what  ethereal  dances, 
By  what  eternal  streams. 


[43] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Lenore 

AH,    broken    is    the    golden    bowl!    the    spirit    flown 

forever ! 
Let  the  bell  toll! — a  saintly  soul  floats  on  the  Stygian 

river ; 
And,  Guy  de  Vere,  hast  thou  no  tear? — weep  now  or 

nevermore ! 
See!    on  yon   drear   and   rigid   bier   low   lies   thy   love, 

Lenore ! 
Come!  let  the  burial  rite  be  read — the  funeral  song  be 

sung ! — 

[44] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


L en Ore — CONTINUED 

An   anthem   for   the   queenliest  dead   that   ever   died   so 

young — 
A  dirge   for  her  the  doubly  dead  in  that   she  died  so 

young. 


"Wretches!  ye  loved  her  for  her  wealth  and  hated  her  for 

her  pride, 
And  when  she  fell  in  feeble  health,  ye  blessed  her — that 

she  died! 
How  shall  the  ritual,  then,  be  read? — the  requiem  how 

be  sung 
By  you — by  yours,  the  evil  eye, — by  yours,  the  slanderous 

tongue 
That  did  to  death  the  innocence  that  died,  and  died  so 

young?" 

[45] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Leno  re —  CONTINUED 

Peccavimus;  but  rave  not  thus!  and  let  a  Sabbath  song 
Go  up  to  God  so  solemnly  the  dead  may  feel  no  wrong 
The  sweet  Lenore  hath  "gone  before,"  with  Hope,  that 

flew  beside, 
Leaving  thee  wild  for  the  dear  child  that  should  have  been 

thy  bride — 

For  her,  the  fair  and  debonair,  that  now  so  lowly  lies, 
The  life  upon  her  yellow  hair  but  not  within  her  eyes — 
The  life  still  there,  upon  her  hair — the  death  upon  her 

eyes. 


"Avaunt!  avaunt!  from  fiends  below,  the  indignant  ghost 

is  riven — 

From  Hell  unto  a  high  estate  far  up  within  the  Heaven — 
From  grief  and  groan,  to  a  golden  throne,  beside  the 

King  of  Heaven ! 

[46] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Lenore — CONTINUED 

Let  no  bell  toll,  then, — lest  her  soul,  amid  its  hallowed 
mirth, 

Should  catch  the  note  as  it  doth  float  up  from  the  damned 
Earth! 

And  I! — to-night  my  heart  is  light! — no  dirge  will  I  up 
raise, 

But  waft  the  angel  on  her  flight  with  a  Paean  of  old 
days!" 


[47] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Dreams 

OH!  that  my  young  life  were  a  lasting  dream! 

My  spirit  not  awakening,  till  the  beam 

Of  an  Eternity  should  bring  the  morrow. 

Yes!  tho'  that  long  dream  were  of  hopeless  sorrow, 

'Twere  better  than  the  cold  reality 

Of  waking  life,  to  him  whose  heart  must  be, 

And  hath  been  still,  upon  the  lovely  earth, 

A  chaos  of  dqep  passion,  from  his  birth. 

But  should  it  be — that  dream  eternally 

Continuing — as  dreams  have  been  to  me 

In  my  young  boyhood — should  it  thus  be  given, 

'Twere  folly  still  to  hope  for  higher  Heaven. 

[48] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

For  I  have  revell'd,  when  the  sun  was  bright 

F  the  summer  sky,  in  dreams  of  living  light 

And  loveliness, — have  left  my  very  heart 

In  climes  of  my  imagining,  apart 

From  mine  own  home,  with  beings  that  have  been 

Of  mine  own  thought — what  more  could  I  have  seen? 

'Twas  once — and  only  once — and  the  wild  hour 

From  my  remembrance  shall  not  pass — some  power 

Or  spell  had  bound  me — 'twas  the  chilly  wind 

Came  o'er  me  in  the  night,  and  left  behind 

Its  image  on  my  spirit — or  the  moon 

Shone  on  my  slumbers  in  her  lofty  noon 

Too  coldly — or  the  stars — howe'er  it  was 

That  dream  was  as  that  night-wind — let  it  pass. 

I  have  been  happy,  tho'  in  a  dream. 

I  have  been  happy — and  I  love  the  theme: 

Dreams!  in  their  vivid  colouring  of  life, 

[49] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Dreams — CONTINUED 

As  in  that  fleeting,  shadowy,  misty  strife 

Of  semblance  with  reality,  which  brings 

To  the  delirious  eye,  more  lovely  things 

Of  Paradise  and  Love — and  all  our  own! 

Than  young  Hope  in  his  sunniest  hour  hath  known. 


[50] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  Helen 

[Helen  was  Mrs.  Whitman.] 

I  SAW  thee  once — once  only — years  ago : 

I  must  not  say  how  many — but  not  many. 

It  was  a  July  midnight;  and  from  out 

A  full-orbed  moon,  that,  like  thine  own  soul,  soaring, 

Sought  a  precipitate  pathway  up  through  heaven, 

There  fell  a  silvery-silken  veil  of  light, 

With  quietude,  and  sultriness,  and  slumber, 

Upon  the  upturned  faces  of  a  thousand 

Roses  that  grew  in  an  enchanted  garden, 

Where  no  wind  dared  to  stir,  unless  on  tiptoe — 

Fell  on  the  upturned  faces  of  these  roses 

That  gave  out,  in  return  for  the  love-light, 

[SO 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To   Helen — CONTINUED 

Their  odorous  souls  in  an  ecstatic  death — 
Fell  on  the  upturned  faces  of  the  roses, 
That  smiled  and  died  in  this  parterre,  enchanted 
By  thee,  and  by  the  poetry  of  thy  presence. 

Clad  all  in  white,  upon  a  violet  bank 

I  saw  thee  half-reclining;  while  the  moon 

Fell  on  the  upturn'd  faces  of  the  roses, 

And  on  thine  own,  upturn'd — alas,  in  sorrow! 

Was  it  not  Fate,  that,  on  this  July  midnight — 
Was  it  not  Fate  (whose  name  is  also  Sorrow) 
That  bade  me  pause  before  that  garden-gate, 
To  breathe  the  incense  of  those  slumbering  roses? 
No  footstep  stirred:  the  hated  world  all  slept, 
Save  only  thee  and  me.     (Oh,  Heaven! — oh,  God! 

[52] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  Helen — CONTINUED 

How  my  heart  beats  in  coupling  those  two  words ! 
Save  only  thee  and  me.     I  paused — I  looked — 
And  in  an  instant  all  things  disappeared. 
(Ah,  bear  in  mind  this  garden  was  enchanted!) 


The  pearly  lustre  of  the  moon  went  out: 

The  mossy  banks  and  the  meandering  paths, 

The  happy  flowers  and  the  repining  trees, 

Were  seen  no  more:  the  very  roses'  odours 

Died  in  the  arms  of  the  adoring  airs. 

All — all  expired  save  thee — save  less  than  thou: 

Save  only  the  divine  light  in  thine  eyes — 

Save  but  the  soul  in  thine  uplifted  eyes. 

I  saw  but  them — they  were  the  world  to  me! 

I  saw  but  them — saw  only  them  for  hours, 

Saw  only  them  until  the  moon  went  down. 

[53] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To   Helen — CONTINUED 

What  wild  heart-histories  seemed  to  lie  enwritten 
Upon  those  crystalline,  celestial  spheres! 

How  dark  a  woe,  yet  how  sublime  a  hope! 
How  silently  serene  a  sea  of  pride! 
How  daring  an  ambition;  yet  how  deep — 
How  fathomless  a  capacity  for  love! 

But  now,  at  length,  dear  Dian  sank  from  sight, 
Into  a  western  couch  of  thunder-cloud; 
And  thou,  a  ghost,  amid  the  entombing  trees 
Didst  glide  away.     Only  thine  eyes  remained; 
They  would  not  go — they  never  yet  have  gone; 
Lighting  my  lonely  pathway  home  that  night, 
They  have  not  left  me  (as  my  hopes  have)  since; 
They  follow  me — they  lead  me  through  the  years. 
They  are  my  ministers — yet  I  their  slave. 

[54] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To   Helen —  CONTINUED 

Their  office  is  to  illumine  and  enkindle — 

My  duty,  to  be  saved  by  their  bright  light, 

And  purified  in  their  electric  fire, 

And  sanctified  in  their  elysian  fire. 

They  fill  my  soul  with  Beauty  (which  is  Hope), 

And  are  far  up  in  Heaven — the  stars  I  kneel  to 

In  the  sad,  silent  watches  of  my  night; 

While  even  in  the  meridian  glare  of  day 

I  see  them  still — two  sweetly  scintillant 

Venuses,  unextinguished  by  the  sun! 


[551 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Haunted  Palace 

IN  the  greenest  of  our  valleys 

By  good  angels  tenanted, 
Once  a  fair  and  stately  palace — 

Radiant  palace — reared  its  head. 
In  the  monarch  Thought's  dominion — 

It  stood  there ! 
Never  seraph  spread  a  pinion 

Over  fabric  half  so  fair ! 


Banners  yellow,  glorious,  golden, 
On  its  roof  did  float  and  flow, 

[56] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Haunted  Palace — CONTINUED 

(This — all  this — was  in  the  olden 
Time  long  ago,) 

And  every  gentle  air  that  dallied, 

In  that  sweet  day, 
Along  the  ramparts  plumed  and  pallid, 

A  winged  odour  went  away. 


Wanderers  in  that  happy  valley, 

Through  two  luminous  windows,  saw 
Spirits  moving  musically, 

To  a  lute's  well-tuned  law, 
Round  about  a  throne  where,  sitting 

(Porphyrogene!) 
In  state  his  glory  well  befitting, 

The  ruler  of  the  realm  was  seen. 


[57] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Haunted  Palace — CONTINUED 

And  all  with  pearl  and  ruby  glowing 

Was  the  fair  palace  door, 
Through  which  came  flowing,  flowing,  flowing, 

And  sparkling  evermore, 
A  troop  of  Echoes,  whose  sweet  duty 

Was  but  to  sing, 
In  voices  of  surpassing  beauty, 

The  wit  and  wisdom  of  their  king. 

But  evil  things,  in  robes  of  sorrow, 

Assailed  the  monarch's  high  estate. 
(Ah,  let  us  mourn! — for  never  morrow 

Shall  dawn  upon  him  desolate!) 
And  round  about  his  home  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed, 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 

[58] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Haunted  Palace — CONTINUED 

And  travellers,  now,  within  that  valley, 

Through  the  red-litten  windows  see 
Vast  forms,  that  move  fantastically 

To  a  discordant  melody, 
While,  like  a  ghastly  rapid  river, 

Through  the  pale  door 
A  hideous  throng  rush  out  for  ever 

And  laugh — but  smile  no  more. 


[59] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A  Dream  Within  a  Dream 

TAKE  this  kiss  upon  the  brow! 

And,  in  parting  from  you  now, 

Thus  much  let  me  avow — 

You  are  not  wrong,  who  deem 

That  my  days  have  been  a  dream; 

Yet  if  hope  has  flown  away 

In  a  night,  or  in  a  day, 

In  a  vision,  or  in  none, 

Is  it  therefore  the  less  gone? 

All  that  we  see  or  seem 

Is  but  a  dream  within  a  dream. 

I  stand  amid  the  roar 

Of  a  surf-tormented  shore, 


[60] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A  Dream  Within  a  Dream — CONTINUED 
And  I  hold  within  my  hand 
Grains  of  the  golden  sand — 
How  few!  yet  how  they  creep 
Through  my  fingers  to  the  deep, 
While  I  weep — while  I  weep! 
O  God!  can  I  not  grasp 
Them  with  a  tighter  clasp? 
O  God!  can  I  not  save 
One  from  the  pitiless  wave? 
Is  all  that  we  see  or  seem 
But  a  dream  within  a  dream? 


[61] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  City  in  the  Sea 

Lo !    Death  has  reared  himself  a  throne 

In  a  strange  city  lying  alone 

Far  down  within  the  dim  West, 

Where  the  good  and  the  bad  and  the  worst  and  the  best 

Have  gone  to  their  eternal  rest. 

There  shrines  and  palaces  and  towers 

(Time-eaten  towers  that  tremble  not!) 

Resemble  nothing  that  is  ours. 

Around,  by  lifting  winds  forgot, 

Resignedly  beneath  the  sky 

The  melancholy  waters  lie. 

No  rays  from  the  holy  heaven  come  down 

On  the  long  night-time  of  that  town; 

[62] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  City  in  the  Sea — CONTINUED 
But  light  from  out  the  lurid  sea 
Streams  up  the  turrets  silently — 
Gleams  up  the  pinnacles  far  and  free — 
Up  domes — up  spires — up  kingly  halls — 
Up  fanes — up  Babylon-like  walls — 
Up  shadowy  long-forgotten  bowers 
Of  sculptured  ivy  and  stone  flowers — 
Up  many  and  many  a  marvellous  shrine 
Whose  wreathed  friezes  intertwine 
The  viol,  the  violet,  and  the  vine. 

Resignedly  beneath  the  sky 
The  melancholy  waters  lie. 

So  blend  the  turrets  and  shadows  there 
That  all  seem  pendulous  in  air, 
While  from  a  proud  tower  in  the  town 
Death  looks  gigantically  down. 

[63] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  City  in  the  Sea — CONTINUED 

There  open  fanes  and  gaping  graves 
Yawn  level  with  the  luminous  waves; 
But  not  the  riches  there  that  lie 
In  each  idol's  diamond  eye — 
Not  the  gaily-jewelled  dead 
Tempt  the  waters  from  their  bed; 
For  no  ripples  curl,  alas ! 
Along  that  wilderness  of  glass — 
No  swellings  tell  that  winds  may  be 
Upon  some  far-off  happier  sea — 
No  heavings  hint  that  winds  have  been 
On  seas  less  hideously  serene. 

But  lo,  a  stir  is  in  the  air ! 
The  wave — there  is  a  movement  there! 
As  if  the  towers  had  thrust  aside, 
In  slightly  sinking,  the  dull  tide — 

[64] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  City  in  the  Sea — CONTINUED 

As  if  their  tops  had  feebly  given 
A  void  within  the  filmy  Heaven. 
The  waves  have  now  a  redder  glow — 
The  hours  are  breathing  faint  and  low — 
And  when,  amid  no  earthly  moans, 

* 

Down,  down  that  town  shall  settle  hence, 
Hell,  rising  from  a  thousand  thrones, 
Shall  do  it  reverence. 


[651 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  F- 


[F — is,  presumably,  Mrs.  Frances  Sargent  Osgood.] 

BELOVED  !  amid  the  earnest  woes 
That  crowd  around  my  earthly  path — 

(Drear  path,  alas!  where  grows 

Not  even  one  lonely  rose) — 
My  soul  at  least  a  solace  hath 

In  dreams  of  thee,  and  therein  knows 

An  Eden  of  bland  repose 

And  thus  thy  memory  is  to  me 
Like  some  enchanted  far-off  isle 


[66] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


TO    F CONTINUED 

In  some  tumultuous  sea — 

Some  ocean  throbbing  far  and  free 

With  storms — but  where  meanwhile 
Serenest  skies  continually 

Just  o'er  that  one  bright  island  smile. 


[67] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Sleeper 

AT  midnight,  in  the  month  of  June, 
I  stand  beneath  the  mystic  moon. 
An  opiate  vapour,  dewy,  dim, 
Exhales  from  out  her  golden  rim, 
And,  softly  dripping,  drop  by  drop, 
Upon  the  quiet  mountain  top, 
Steals  drowsily  and  musically 
Into  the  universal  valley. 

The  rosemary  nods  upon  the  grave; 
The  lily  lolls  upon  the  wave; 
Wrapping  the  fog  about  its  breast, 
The  ruin  moulders  into  rest ; 

[68] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Sleeper — CONTINUED 

Looking  like  Lethe,  see!  the  lake 
A  conscious  slumber  seems  to  take, 
And  would  not,  for  the  world,  awake. 
All  Beauty  sleeps ! — and  lo !  where  lies 
Irene,  with  her  Destinies! 


O,  lady  bright !  can  it  be  right — 

This  window  open  to  the  night? 

The  wanton  airs,  from  the  tree-top, 

Laughingly  through  the  lattice  drop — 

The  bodiless  airs,  a  wizard  rout, 

Flit  through  thy  chamber  in  and  out, 

And  wave  the  curtain  canopy 

So  fitfully — so  fearfully — 

Above  the  closed  and  fringed  lid 

'Neath  which  thy  slumb'ring  soul  lies  hid, 


[69] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Sleeper — CONTINUED 

That,  o'er  the  floor  and  down  the  wall, 
Like  ghosts  the  shadows  rise  and  fall ! 
Oh,  lady  dear,  hast  thou  no  fear? 
Why  and  what  art  thou  dreaming  here? 
Sure  thou  art  come  o'er  far-off  seas, 
A  wonder  to  these  garden  trees! 
Strange  is  thy  pallor !  strange  thy  dress, 
Strange,  above  all,  thy  length  of  tress, 
And  this  all  solemn  silentness! 


The  lady  sleeps !    Oh,  may  her  sleep, 
Which  is  enduring,  so  be  deep ! 
Heaven  have  her  in  its  sacred  keep ! 
This  chamber  changed  for  one  more  holy, 
This  bed  for  one  more  melancholy, 
I  pray  to  God  that  she  may  lie 


[70] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Sleeper — CONTINUED 

For  ever  with  unopened  eye, 
While  the  pale  sheeted  ghosts  go  by! 


My  love,  she  sleeps !    Oh,  may  her  sleep 

As  it  is  lasting,  so  be  deep ! 

Soft  may  the  worms  about  her  creep ! 

Far  in  the  forest,  dim  and  old, 

For  her  may  some  tall  vault  unfold — 

Some  vault  that  oft  has  flung  its  black 

And  winged  panels  fluttering  back, 

Triumphant,  o'er  the  crested  palls, 

Of  her  grand  family  funerals — 

Some  sepulchre,  remote,  alone, 

Against  whose  portal  she  hath  thrown, 

In  childhood,  many  an  idle  stone — 

Some  tomb  from  out  whose  sounding  door 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Sleeper — CONTINUED 

She  ne'er  shall  force  an  echo  more, 
Thrilling  to  think,  poor  child  of  sin 
It  was  the  dead  who  groaned  within. 


[72] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Ulalume 

THE  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober; 

The  leaves  they  were  crisped  and  sere — 

The  leaves  they  were  withering  and  sere; 
It  was  night  in  the  lonesome  October 

Of  my  most  immemorial  year; 
It  was  hard  by  the  dim  lake  of  Auber, 

In  the  misty  mid  region  of  Weir — 
It  was  down  by  the  dank  tarn  of  Auber, 

In  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir. 


Here  once,  through  an  alley  Titanic, 

Of  cypress,  I  roamed  with  my  Soul — 

[73] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

Of  cypress,  with  Psyche,  my  Soul. 
These  were  days  when  my  heart  was  volcanic 

As  the  scoriae  rivers  that  roll — 

As  the  lavas  that  restlessly  roll 
Their  sulphurous  currents  down  Yaanek 

In  the  ultimate  climes  of  the  pole — 
That  groan  as  they  roll  down  Mount  Yaanek 

In  the  realms  of  the  boreal  pole. 


Our  talk  had  been  serious  and  sober, 

But  our  thoughts  they  were  palsied  and  sere- 
Our  memories  were  treacherous  and  sere — 

For  we  knew  not  the  month  was  October, 

And  we  marked  not  the  night  of  the  year — 
(Ah,  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year!) 

We  noted  not  the  dim  lake  of  Auber — 

[74] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

(Though  once  we  had  journeyed  down  here), 
Remembered  not  the  dank  tarn  of  Auber, 

Nor  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir. 

And  now,  as  the  night  was  senescent, 
And  star-dials  pointed  to  morn  — 
As  the  star-dials  hinted  of  morn  — 

At  the  end  of  our  path  a  liquescent 
And  nebulous  lustre  was  born, 

Out  of  which  a  miraculous  crescent 
Arose  with  a  duplicate  horn  — 

Astarte's  bediamonded  crescent 

Distinct  with  its  duplicate  horn. 

And  I  said  —  "She  is  warmer  than  Dian: 
She  rolls  through  an  ether  of  sighs  — 


[75] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

She  revels  in  a  region  of  sighs: 
She  has  seen  that  the  tears  are  not  dry  on 

These  cheeks,  where  the  worm  never  dies, 
And  has  come  past  the  stars  of  the  Lion, 

To  point  us  the  path  to  the  skies — 

To  the  Lethean  peace  of  the  skies — 
Come  up,  in  despite  of  the  Lion, 

To  shine  on  us  with  her  bright  eyes — 
Come  up  through  the  lair  of  the  Lion, 

With  love  in  her  luminous  eyes." 


But  Psyche,  uplifting  her  finger, 

Said — "Sadly  this  star  I  mistrust — 
Her  pallor  I  strangely  mistrust: — 

Oh,  hasten ! — oh,  let  us  not  linger ! 

Oh,  fly! — let  us  fly! — for  we  must." 

[76] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

In  terror  she  spoke,  letting  sink  her 

Wings  until  they  trailed  in  the  dust — 

In  agony  sobbed,  letting  sink  her 

Plumes  till  they  trailed  in  the  dust — 
Till  they  sorrowfully  trailed  in  the  dust. 

I  replied — "This  is  nothing  but  dreaming: 

Let  us  on  by  this  tremulous  light ! 

Let  us  bathe  in  this  crystalline  light ! 
Its  Sybilic  splendour  is  beaming 

With  Hope  and  in  Beauty  to-night : — 

See ! — it  flickers  up  the  sky  through  the  night ! 
Ah,  we  safely  may  trust  to  its  gleaming, 

And  be  sure  it  will  lead  us  aright — 
We  safely  may  trust  to  a  gleaming 

That  cannot  but  guide  us  aright, 

Since  it  flickers  up  to  Heaven  through  the  night." 

[77] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

Thus  I  pacified  Psyche  and  kissed  her, 
And  tempted  her  out  of  her  gloom — 
And  conquered  her  scruples  and  gloom; 

And  we  passed  to  the  end  of  the  vista, 

But  were  stopped  by  the  door  of  a  tomb — 
By  the  door  of  a  legended  tomb ; 

And  I  said — "What  is  written,  sweet  sister, 
On  the  door  of  this  legended  tomb?" 
She  replied — "Ulalume — Ulalume — 
Tis  the  vault  of  thy  lost  Ulalume !" 


Then  my  heart  it  grew  ashen  and  sober 

As  the  leaves  that  were  crisped  and  sere — 
As  the  leaves  that  were  withering  and  sere; 

And  I  cried — "It  was  surely  October 

[78] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Ulalume — CONTINUED 

On  this  very  night  of  last  year 
That  I  journeyed — I  journeyed  down  here- 
That  I  brought  a  dread  burden  down  here- 
On  this  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year, 
Ah,  what  demon  has  tempted  me  here? 

Well  I  know,  now,  this  dim  lake  of  Auber — 
This  misty  mid  region  of  Weir — 

Well  I  know,  now,  this  dank  tarn  of  Auber, 
This  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir." 


[79] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Romance 

ROMANCE,  who  loves  to  nod  and  sing, 

With  drowsy  head  and  folded  wing, 

Among  the  green  leaves  as  they  shake 

Far  down  within  some  shadowy  lake, 

To  me  a  painted  paroquet 

Hath  been — a  most  familiar  bird — 

Taught  me  my  alphabet  to  say — 

To  lisp  my  very  earliest  word 

While  in  the  wild  wood  I  did  lie, 

A  child — with  a  most  knowing  eye. 

Of  late,  eternal  Condor  years 

So  shake  the  very  Heaven  on  high 

With  tumult  as  they  thunder  by, 

[80] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Romance — CONTINUED 

I  have  no  time  for  idle  cares 
Through  gazing  on  the  unquiet  sky. 
And  when  an  hour  with  calmer  wings 
Its  down  upon  my  spirit  flings — 
That  little  time  with  lyre  and  rhyme 
To  while  away — forbidden  things! 
My  heart  would  feel  to  be  a  crime 
Unless  it  trembled  with  the  strings. 


[81] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Sonnet- -To  Science 

SCIENCE!  true  daughter  of  Old  Time  thou  art! 

Who  alterest  all  things  with  thy  peering  eyes. 
Why  preyest  thou  thus  upon  the  poet's  heart, 

Vulture,  whose  wings  are  dull  realities? 
How  should  he  love  thee?  or  how  deem  thee  wise, 

Who  wouldst  not  leave  him  in  his  wandering 
To  seek  for  treasure  in  the  jewelled  skies, 

Albeit  he  soared  with  an  undaunted  wing? 
Hast  thou  not  dragged  Diana  from  her  car? 

And  driven  the  Hamadryad  from  the  wood 
To  seek  a  shelter  in  some  happier  star? 

Hast  thou  not  torn  the  Naiad  from  her  flood, 
The  Elfin  from  the  green  grass,  and  from  me 
The  summer  dream  beneath  the  tamarind  tree? 

[82] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Eldorado 

GAILY  bedight, 

A  gallant  knight, 
In  sunshine  and  in  shadow, 

Had  journeyed  long, 

Singing  a  song, 
In  search  of  Eldorado. 


But  he  grew  old — 
This  knight  so  bold — 
And  o'er  his  heart  a  shadow 
Fell  as  he  found 

[83] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 
E  Idorado —  CONTINUED 

No  spot  of  ground 
That  looked  like  Eldorado. 


And,  as  his  strength 
Failed  him  at  length, 

He  met  a  pilgrim  shadow — 
"Shadow,"  said  he, 
"Where  can  it  be — 

This  land  of  Eldorado?" 


"Over  the  Mountains 
Of  the  Moon, 
Down  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow, 

[84] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Eldorado — CONTINUED 

Ride,  boldly  ride," 
The  shade  replied — 
"If  you  seek  for  Eldorado !' 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE 


To  M- 


O!  I  care  not  that  my  earthly  lot 
Hath  little  of  Earth  in  it, 

That  years  of  love  have  been  forgot 
In  the  fever  of  a  minute : 

I  heed  not  that  the  desolate 
Are  happier,  sweet,  than  I, 

But  that  you  meddle  with  my  fate 
Who  am  a  passer  by. 

It  is  not  that  my  founts  of  bliss 
Are  gushing — strange !  with  tears — 

[86] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


TO    M CONTINUED 

Or  that  the  thrill  of  a  single  kiss 
Hath  palsied  many  years — 

'Tis  not  that  the  flowers  of  twenty  springs 
Which  have  withered  as  they  rose 

Lie  dead  on  my  heart-strings 
With  the  weight  of  an  age  of  snows. 

Not  that  the  grass — O !  may  it  thrive ! 

On  my  grave  is  growing  or  grown — 
But  that,  while  I  am  dead  yet  alive 

I  cannot  be,  lady,  alone. 


[87] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Conqueror  Worm 

Lo !  'tis  a  gala  night 

Within  the  lonesome  latter  years! 
An  angel  throng,  bewinged,  bedight 

In  veils,  and  drowned  in  tears, 
Sit  in  a  theatre,  to  see 

A  play  of  hopes  and  fears, 
While  the  orchestra  breathes  fitfully 

The  music  of  the  spheres. 

Mimes,  in  the  form  of  God  on  high, 

Mutter  and  mumble  low, 
And  hither  and  thither  fly — 

Mere  puppets  they,  who  come  and  go 

[88] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Conquer  Worm — CONTINUED 

At  bidding  of  vast  formless  things 
That  shift  the  scenery  to  and  fro, 
Flapping  from  out  their  Condor  wings 
Invisible  Woe! 


That  motley  drama — oh,  be  sure 

It  shall  not  be  forgot! 
With  its  Phantom  chased  for  evermore, 

By  a  crowd  that  seize  it  not, 
Through  a  circle  that  ever  returneth  in 

To  the  self-same  spot, 
And  much  of  Madness,  and  more  of  Sin, 

And  Horror  the  soul  of  the  plot. 

But  see,  amid  the  mimic  rout 
A  crawling  shape  intrude! 

[89] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Conquer  Worm — CONTINUED 

A  blood-red  thing  that  writhes  from  out 

The  scenic  solitude! 
It  writhes! — it  writhes! — with  mortal  pangs 

The  mimes  become  its  food, 
And  seraphs  sob  at  vermin  fangs 

In  human  gore  imbued. 

• 

Out — out  are  the  lights — out  all ! 

And,  over  each  quivering  form, 
The  curtain,  a  funeral  pall, 

Comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm 
While  the  angels,  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling,  affirm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy,  "Man," 

And  its  hero  the  Conqueror  Worm. 


[90] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Sonnet — To  Zante 

FAIR  isle,  that  from  the  fairest  of  all  flowers, 

Thy  gentlest  of  all  gentle  names  dost  take ! 
How  many  memories  of  what  radiant  hours 

At  sight  of  thee  and  thine  at  once  awake ! 
How  many  scenes  of  what  departed  bliss ! 

How  many  thoughts  of  what  entombed  hopes ! 
How  many  visions  of  a  maiden  that  is 

No  more — no  more  upon  thy  verdant  slopes ! 
No  more!  alas,  that  magical  sad  sound 

Transforming  all!    Thy  charms  shall  please  no  more- 
Thy  memory  no  more!    Accursed  ground 

Henceforth  I  hold  thy  flower-enamelled  shore, 
O  hyacinthine  isle !    O  purple  Zante ! 

"Isola  d'oro !    Fior  di  Levante !" 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  M.  L.  S.- 

[Mrs.  Marie  Louise  Shew.] 

OF  all  who  hail  thy  presence  as  the  morning — 

Of  all  to  whom  thine  absence  is  the  night  — 

The  blotting  utterly  from  out  high  heaven 

The  sacred  sun — of  all  who,  weeping,  bless  thee 

Hourly  for  hope — for  life — ah!  above  all, 

For  the  resurrection  of  deep-buried  faith 

In  Truth — in  Virtue — in  Humanity — 

Of  all  who,  on  Despair's  unhallowed  bed 

Lying  down  to  die,  have  suddenly  arisen 

At  thy  soft-murmured  words,  "Let  there  be  light!" 

At  the  soft-murmured  words  that  were  fulfilled 

[92] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


TO    M.    L.    S. CONTINUED 

In  the  seraphic  glancing  of  thine  eyes — 

Of  all  who  owe  thee  most — whose  gratitude 

Nearest  resembles  worship — oh,  remember 

The  truest — the  most  fervently  devoted, 

And  think  that  these  weak  lines  are  written  by  him- 

By  him  who,  as  he  pens  them,  thrills  to  think 

His  spirit  is  communing  with  an  angel's. 


[93] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  the  River 

FAIR  river !  in  thy  bright,  clear  flow 

Of  crystal,  wandering  water, 
Thou  art  an  emblem  of  the  glow 

Of  beauty — the  unhidden  heart- 
The  playful  maziness  of  art 
In  old  Alberto's  daughter; 


But  when  within  thy  wave  she  looks — 
Which  glistens  then,  and  trembles — 

Why,  then,  the  prettiest  of  brooks 
Her  worshipper  resembles ; 

[94] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  the  River  CONTINUED 

For  in  my  heart,  as  in  thy  stream, 
Her  image  deeply  lies — 

His  heart  which  trembles  at  the  beam 
Of  her  soul-searching  eyes. 


[95] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A  Dream 

IN  visions  of  the  dark  night 

I  have  dreamed  of  joy  departed — 

But  a  waking  dream  of  life  and  light 
Hath  left  me  broken-hearted. 

Ah !  what  is  not  a  dream  by  day 
To  him  whose  eyes  are  cast 

On  things  around  him  with  a  ray 
Turned  back  upon  the  past? 

That  holy  dream — that  holy  dream, 
While  all  the  world  were  chiding, 

[96] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A   Dream — CONTINUED 

Hath  cheered  me  as  a  lovely  beam, 
A  lonely  spirit  guiding. 

What  though  that  light,  thro'  storm  and  night, 

So  trembled  from  afar — 
What  could  there  be  more  purely  bright 

In  Truth's  day-star? 


[97] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Al  Aaraaf 

PART  I. 

O !  NOTHING  earthly  save  the  ray 
(Thrown  back  from  flowers)  of  Beauty's  eye, 
As  in  those  gardens  where  the  day 
Springs  from  the  gems  of  Circassy — 

O !  nothing  earthly  save  the  thrill 
Of  melody  in  woodland  rill — 
Or  (music  of  the  passion-hearted) 
Joy's  voice  so  peacefully  departed 
That  like  the  murmur  in  the  shell, 
Its  echo  dwelleth  and  will  dwell — 

[98] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj —  CONTINUED 

Oh,  nothing  of  the  dross  of  ours — 
Yet  all  the  beauty — all  the  flowers 
That  list  our  Love,  and  deck  our  bowers — 
Adorn  yon  world  afar,  afar — 
The  wandering  star. 


'Twas  a  sweet  time  for  Nesace — for  there 
Her  world  lay  lolling  on  the  golden  air, 
Near  four  bright  suns — a  temporary  rest — 
An  oasis  in  desert  of  the  blest. 
Away — away — 'mid  seas  of  rays  that  roll 
Empyrean  splendour  o'er  th'  unchained  soul — 
The  soul  that  scarce  (the  billows  are  so  dense) 
Can  struggle  to  its  destin'd  eminence, — 
To  distant  spheres,  from  time  to  time,  she  rode 
And  late  to  ours,  the  favour'd  one  of  God — 

[99] 


THE  POETICAL  WOtfKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I       araa — CONTINUED 

But,  now,  the  ruler  of  an  anchor'd  realm, 
She  throws  aside  the  sceptre — leaves  the  helm, 
And,  amid  incense  and  high  spiritual  hymns, 
Laves  in  quadruple  light  her  angel  limbs. 

Now  happiest,  loveliest  in  yon  lovely  Earth, 
Whence  sprang  the  "Idea  of  Beauty"  into  birth, 
(Falling  in  wreaths  thro'  many  a  startled  star, 
Like  woman's  hair  'mid  pearls,  until,  afar, 
It  lit  on  hills  Achaian,  and  there  dwelt) 
She  looked  into  Infinity — and  knelt. 
Rich  clouds,  for  canopies,  about  her  curled — 
Fit  emblems  of  the  model  of  her  world — 
Seen  but  in  beauty — not  impeding  sight 
Of  other  beauty  glittering  thro'  the  light — 
A  wreath  that  twined  each  starry  form  around, 
And  all  the  opal'd  air  in  colour  bound. 

[100] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE 


A I  Aaraaj —  CONTINUED 

All  hurriedly  she  knelt  upon  a  bed 
Of  flowers :  of  liles  such  as  rear'd  the  head 
On  the  fair  Capo  Deucato,  and  sprang 
So  eagerly  around  about  to  hang 

Upon  the  flying  footsteps  of deep  pride — 

Of  her  who  lov'd  a  mortal — and  so  died. 

The  Sephalica,  budding  with  young  bees, 
Upreared  its  purple  stem  around  her  knees:  — 
And  gemmy  flower,  of  Trebizond  misnam'd — 
Inmate  of  highest  stars,  where  erst  it  sham'd 
All  other  loveliness : — its  honied  dew 
(The  fabled  nectar  that  the  heathen  knew) 
Deliriously  sweet,  was  dropp'd  from  Heaven. 
And  fell  on  gardens  of  the  unforgiven 
In  Trebizond — and  on  a  sunny  flower 
So  like  its  own  above  that,  to  this  hour, 

[101] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

It  still  remaineth,  torturing  the  bee 
With  madness,  and  unwonted  reverie : 
In  Heaven,  and  all  its  environs,  the  leaf 
And  blossom  of  the  fairy  plant  in  grief 
Disconsolate  linger — grief  that  hangs  her  head, 
Repenting  follies  that  full  long  have  fled, 
Heaving  her  white  breast  to  the  balmy  air, 
Like  guilty  beauty,  chasten'd  and  more  fair: 
Nyctanthes  too,  as  sacred  as  the  light 
She  fears  to  perfume,  perfuming  the  night: 
And  Clytia,  pondering  between  many  a  sun, 
While  pettish  tears  adown  her  petals  run: 
And  that  aspiring  flower  that  sprang  on  Earth, 
And  died,  ere  scarce  exalted  into  birth, 
Bursting  its  odorous  heart  in  spirit  to  wing 
Its  way  to  Heaven,  from  garden  of  a  king : 
And  Valisnerian  lotus,  thither  flown 

[102] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I          dTdd CONTINUED 

From  struggling  with  the  waters  of  the  Rhone: 

And  thy  most  lovely  purple  perfume,  Zante! 

Isola  d'oro ! — Fior  di  Levante ! 

And  the  Nelumbo  bud  that  floats  for  ever 

With  Indian  Cupid  down  the  holy  river — 

Fair  flowers,  and  fairy !  to  whose  care  is  given 

To  bear  the  Goddess'  song,  in  odours,  up  to  Heaven 

"Spirit !  thou  dwellest  where, 

In  the  deep  sky, 
The  terrible  and  fair, 

In  beauty  vie ! 
Beyond  the  line  of  blue — 

The  boundary  of  the  star 
Which  turneth  at  the  view 

Of  thy  barrier  and  thy  bar — 
Of  the  barrier  overgone 

[103] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

By  the  comets  who  were  cast 
From  their  pride  and  from  their  throne 

To  be  drudges  till  the  last — 
To  be  carriers  of  fire 

(The  red  fire  of  their  heart) 
With  speed  that  may  not  tire 

And  with  pain  that  shall  not  part — 
Who  livest — that  we  know — 

In  Eternity — we  feel — 
But  the  shadow  of  whose  brow 

What  spirit  shall  reveal? 
Tho'  the  beings  whom  thy  Nesace, 

Thy  messenger  hath  known 
Have  dream'd  for  thy  Infinity 

A  model  of  their  own — 
Thy  will  is  done,  O  God! 

The  star  hath  ridden  high 

[104] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

Thro'  many  a  tempest,  but  she  rode 

Beneath  thy  burning  eye; 
And  here,  in  thought,  to  thee — 

In  thought  that  can  alone 
Ascend  thy  empire  and  so  be 

A  partner  of  thy  throne — 
By  winged  Fantasy, 

My  embassy  is  given, 
Till  secrecy  shall  knowledge  be 

In  the  environs  of  Heaven." 

She  ceas'd — and  buried  then  her  burning  cheek 

Abashed,  amid  the  lilies  there,  to  seek 

A  shelter  from  the  fervour  of  His  eye ; 

For  the  stars  trembled  at  the  Deity. 

She  stirr'd  not — breath'd  not — for  a  voice  was  there 

How  solemnly  pervading  the  calm  air ! 

[105] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

A  sound  of  silence  on  the  startled  ear 

Which  dreamy  poets  name  "the  music  of  the  sphere." 

Ours  is  a  world  of  words:    Quiet  we  call 
"Silence" — which  is  the  merest  word  of  all. 
All  Nature  speaks,  and  ev'n  ideal  things 
Flap  shadowy  sounds  from  visionary  wings — 
But  ah!  not  so  when,  thus,  in  realms  on  high 
The  eternal  voice  of  God  is  passing  by, 
And  the  red  winds  are  withering  in  the  sky : — 

"What  tho'  in  worlds  which  sightless  cycles  run 
Linked  to  a  little  system,  and  one  sun — 
Where  all  my  life  is  folly  and  the  crowd 
Still  think  my  terrors  but  the  thunder  cloud, 
The  storm,  the  earthquake,  and  the  ocean-wrath — 
(Ah !  will  they  cross  me  in  my  angrier  path?) 

[106] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf — CONTINUED 

What  tho'  in  world  which  hold  a  single  sun 
The  sands  of  Time  grow  dimmer  as  they  run, 
Yet  thine  is  my  resplendency,  so  given 
To  bear  my  secrets  thro'  the  upper  Heaven 

Leave  tenantless  thy  crystal  home,  and  fly, 

With  all  thy  train,  athwart  the  moony  sky — 

Apart — like  fire-flies  in  the  Sicilian  night, 

And  wing  to  other  worlds  another  light ! 

Divulge  the  secrets  of  thy  embassy 

To  the  proud  orbs  that  twinkle — and  so  be 

To  ev'ry  heart  a  barrier  and  a  ban 

Lest  the  stars  totter  in  the  guilt  of  man !" 

Up  rose  the  maiden  in  the  yellow  night, 
The  single-mooned  eve! — on  Earth  we  plight 
Our  faith  to  one  love — and  one  moon  adore — 

[107] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj —  CONTINUED 

The  birth-place  of  young  Beauty  had  no  more. 
As  sprang  that  yellow  star  from  downy  hours 
Up  rose  the  maiden  from  her  shrine  of  flowers, 
And  bent  o'er  sheeny  mountains  and  dim  plain 
Her  way,  but  left  not  yet  her  Therasaean  reign. 


PART  II. 

HIGH  on  a  mountain  of  enamell'd  head — 
Such  as  the  drowsy  shepherd  on  his  bed 
Of  giant  pasturage  lying  at  his  ease, 
Raising  his  heavy  eyelid,  starts  and  sees 
With  many  a  mutter'd  "hope  to  be  forgiven" 
What  time  the  moon  is  quadrated  in  Heaven- 
Of  Rosy  head  that,  towering  far  away 
Into  the  sunlight  ether,  caught  the  ray 
Of  sunken  suns  at  eve — at  noon  of  night, 

[108] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Al  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

While  the  moon  danc'd  with  the  fair  stranger  light — 
Uprear'd  upon  such  height  arose  a  pile 
Of  gorgeous  columns  on  th'  unburthen'd  air, 
Flashing  from  Parian  marble  that  twin  smile 
Far  down  upon  the  wave  that  sparkled  there, 
And  nursled  the  young  mountain  in  its  lair. 

Of  molten  stars  their  pavement,  such  as  fall 

Thro'  the  ebon  air,  besilvering  the  pall 

Of  their  own  dissolution,  while  they  die — 

Adorning  then  the  dwellings  of  the  sky. 

A  dome,  by  linked  light  from  Heaven  let  down, 

Sat  gently  on  these  columns  as  a  crown — 

A  window  of  one  circular  diamond,  there, 

Look'd  out  above  into  the  purple  air, 

And  rays  from  God  shot  down  that  meteor  chain 

And  hallow'd  all  the  beauty  twice  again, 

[109] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Al       araa — CONTINUED 

Save  when,  between  th'  Empyrean  and  that  ring, 
Some  eager  spirit  flapp'd  his  dusky  wing. 


But  on  the  pillars  Seraph  eyes  have  seen 
The  dimness  of  this  world :  that  greyish  green 
That  Nature  love's  the  best  for  Beauty's  grave 
Lurk'd  in  each  cornice,  round  each  architrave- 
And  every  sculptured  cherub  thereabout 
That  from  his  marble  dwelling  peered  out, 
Seem'd  earthly  in  the  shadow  of  his  niche — 
Achaian  statues  in  a  world  so  rich? 
Friezes  from  Tadmor  and  Persepolis — 
From  Balbec,  and  the  stilly,  clear  abyss 
Of  beautiful  Gomorrah !    O,  the  wave 
Is  now  upon  thee — but  too  late  to  save ! 

[no] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

Sound  loves  to  revel  in  a  summer  night: 
Witness  the  murmur  of  the  grey  twilight 
That  stole  upon  the  ear,  in  Eyraco, 
Of  many  a  wild  star-gazer  long  ago — 
That  stealeth  ever  on  the  ear  of  him 
Who,  musing,  gazeth  on  the  distant  dim, 
And  sees  the  darkness  coming  as  a  cloud — 
Is  not  its  form — its  voice — most  palpable  and  loud? 

But  what  is  this? — it  cometh,  and  it  brings 
A  music  with  it — 'tis  the  rush  of  wings — 
A  pause — and  then  a  sweeping,  falling  strain 
And  Nesace  is  in  her  halls  again. 
From  the  wild  energy  of  wanton  haste 

Her  cheeks  were  flushing,  and  her  lips  apart; 
And  zone  that  clung  around  her  gentle  waist 

Had  burst  beneath  the  heaving  of  her  heart. 

[in] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf — CONTINUED 

Within  the  centre  of  that  hall  to  breathe, 
She  paused  and  panted,  Zanthe !  all  beneath, 
The  fairy  light  that  kiss'd  her  golden  hair 
And  long'd  to  rest,  yet  could  but  sparkle  there. 

Young  flowers  were  whispering  in  melody 
To  happy  flowers  that  night — and  tree  to  tree ; 
Fountains  were  gushing  music  as  they  fell 
In  many  a  star-lit  grove,  or  moon-lit  dell ; 
Yet  silence  came  upon  material  things — 
Fair  flowers,  bright  waterfalls  and  angel  wings- 
And  sound  alone  that  from  the  spirit  sprang 
Bore  burthen  to  the  charm  the  maiden  sang: 

"  'Neath  the  blue-bell  or  streamer] — 

Or  tufted  wild  spray 
That  keeps,  from  the  dreamer, 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Adraaj — CONTINUED 

The  moonbeams  away — 
Bright  beings!  that  ponder, 

With  half  closing  eyes, 
On  the  stars  which  your  wonder 

Hath  drawn  from  the  skies, 
Till  they  glance  thro'  the  shade,  and 

Come  down  to  your  brow 
Like eyes  of  the  maiden 

Who  calls  on  you  now — 
Arise !  from  your  dreaming 

In  violet  bowers, 
To  duty  beseeming 

These  star-litten  hours — 
And  shake  from  your  tresses 

Encumber'd  with  dew 
The  breath  of  those  kisses 
That  cumber  them  too — 

[ii.ll 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I    AcLTddj CONTINUED 

(O!  how,  without  you,  Love! 

Could  angels  be  blest?) 
Those  kisses  of  true  Love 

That  lull'd  ye  to  rest! 
Up! — shake  from  your  wing 

Each  hindering  thing: 
The  dew  of  the  night — 

It  would  weigh  down  your  flight; 
And  true  love  caresses — 

O,  leave  them  apart! 
They  are  light  on  the  tresses, 

But  lead  on  the  heart. 

Ligeia !    Ligeia ! 

My  beautiful  one! 
Whose  harshest  idea 

Will  to  melody  run, 

[114] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf — CONTINUED 

O!  is  it  thy  will 

On  the  breezes  to  toss? 
Or,  capriciously  still, 

Like  the  lone  Albatross, 
Incumbent  on  night 

(As  she  on  the  air) 
To  keep  watch  with  delight 

On  the  harmony  there? 

Ligeia!  wherever 

Thy  image  may  be, 
No  magic  shall  sever 

Thy  music  from  thee. 
Thou  hast  bound  many  eyes 

In  a  dreamy  sleep — 
But  the  strains  still  arise 

Which  thy  vigilance  keep — 
The  sound  of  the  rain, 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf —  CONTINUED 

Which  leaps  down  to  the  flower 

And  dances  again 

In  the  rhythm  of  the  shower — 
The  murmur  that  springs 

From  the  growing  of  grass 
Are  the  music  of  things — 

But  are  modell'd,  alas ! — 
Away,  then,  my  dearest, 

Oh!  hie  thee  away 
To  the  springs  that  lie  clearest 

Beneath  the  moon-ray — 
To  lone  lake  that  smiles, 

In  its  dream  of  deep  rest, 
At  the  many  star-isles 

That  en  jewel  its  breast — 
Where  wild  flowers,  creeping, 

Have  mingled  their  shade, 
On  its  margin  is  sleeping 

[116] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf — CONTINUED 

Full  many  a  maid — 
Some  have  left  the  cool  glade,  and 

Have  slept  with  the  bee — 
Arouse  them,  my  maiden, 

On  moorland  and  lea — 
Go!  breathe  on  their  slumber, 

All  softly  in  ear, 
Thy  musical  number 

They  slumbered  to  hear — 
For  what  can  awaken 

An  angel  so  soon, 
Whose  sleep  hath  been  taken 

Beneath  the  cold  moon, 
As  the  spell  which  no  slumber 

Of  witchery  may  test, 
The  rhythmical  number 

Which  lull'd  him  to  rest?" 


fii7l 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE 


A I  Adraaj — CONTINUED 

Spirits  in  wing,  and  angels  to  the  view, 

A  thousand  seraphs  burst  th'  Empyrean  thro' 

Young  dreams  still  hovering  on  their  drowsy  flight —  " 

Seraphs  in  all  but  "Knowledge,"  the  keen  light 

That  fell,  refracted,  thro'  thy  bounds,  afar, 

O  Death !  from  eye  of  God  upon  that  star : 

Sweet  was  that  error — sweeter  still  that  death — 

Sweet  was  that  error — even  with  us  the  breath 

Of  Science  dims  the  mirror  of  our  joy — 

To  them  'twere  the  Simoom,  and  would  destroy — 

For  what  (to  them)  availeth  it  to  know 

That  Truth  is  Falsehood — or  that  Bliss  is  Woe? 

Sweet  was  their  death — with  them  to  die  was  rife 

With  the  last  ecstasy  of  satiate  life — 

Beyond  that  death  no  immortality — 

But  sleep  that  pondereth  and  is  not  "to  be" — 

And  there! — oh!  may  my  weary  spirit  dwell — 

Apart  from  Heaven's  Eternity — and  yet  how  far  from  Hell ! 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj —  CONTINUED 

What  guilty  spirit,  in  what  shrubbery  dim, 

Heard  not  the  stirring  summons  of  that  hymn? 

But  two :  they  fell :  for  Heaven  no  grace  imparts 

To  those  who  hear  not  for  their  beating  hearts. 

A  maiden-angel  and  her  seraph-lover — 

O !  where  (and  ye  may  seek  the  wide  skies  over) 

Was  Love,  the  blind,  near  sober  Duty  known? 

Unguided  Love  hath  fallen — 'mid  "tears  of  perfect  moan." 

He  was  a  goodly  spirit — he  who  fell: 
A  wanderer  by  moss-y-mantled  well — 
A  gazer  on  the  lights  that  shine  above — 
A  dreamer  in  the  moonbeam  by  his  love: 
What  wonder?  for  each  star  is  eye-like  there, 
And  looks  so  sweetly  down  on  Beauty's  hair — 
And  they,  and  ev'ry  mossy  spring  were  holy 
To  his  love-haunted  heart  and  melancholy. 

[119] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

The  night  had  found  (to  him  a  night  of  woe) 

Upon  a  mountain  crag,  young  Angelo — 

Beetling  it  bends  athwart  the  solemn  sky, 

And  scowls  on  starry  worlds  that  down  beneath  it  lie. 

Here  sat  he  with  his  love — his  dark  eye  bent 

With  eagle  gaze  along  the  firmament: 

Now  turn'd  it  upon  her — but  ever  then 

It  trembled  to  the  orb  of  EARTH  again. 

"lanthe,  dearest,  see — how  dim  that  ray! 
How  lovely  'tis  to  look  so  far  away ! 
She  seem'd  not  thus  upon  that  autumn  eve 
I  left  her  gorgeous  halls — nor  mourn'd  to  leave 
That  eve — that  eve — I  should  remember  well — 
The  sun-ray  dropp'd  in  Lemnos,  with  a  spell 
On  th'  arabesque  carving  of  a  gilded  hall 
Wherein  I  sate,  and  on  the  draperied  wall — 
And  on  my  eyelids — O  the  heavy  light ! 

[120] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf —  CONTINUED 

How  drowsily  it  weigh'd  them  into  night! 

On  flowers,  before,  and  mist,  and  love  they  ran 

With  Persian  Saadi  in  his  Gulistan: 

But  O  that  light! — I  slumber'd — Death,  the  while, 

Stole  o'er  my  senses  in  that  lovely  isle 

So  softly  that  no  single  silken  hair 

Awoke  that  slept — or  knew  that  he  was  there. 

"The  last  spot  of  Earth's  orb  I  trod  upon 
Was  a  proud  temple  called  the  Parthenon; 
More  beauty  clung  around  her  column'd  wall 
Than  ev'n  thy  glowing  bosom  beats  withal, 
And  when  old  Time  my  wing  did  disenthral 
Thence  sprang  I — as  the  eagle  from  his  tower, 
And  years  I  left  behind  me  in  an  hour. 
What  time  upon  her  airy  bounds  I  hung, 
One  half  the  garden  of  her  globe  was  flung 

[121] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj — CONTINUED 

Unrolling  as  a  chart  unto  my  view — 
Tenantless  cities  of  the  desert  too ! 
lanthe,  beauty  crowded  on  me  then, 
And  half  I  wish'd  to  be  again  of  men." 

"My  Angelo !  and  why  of  them  to  be? 
A  brighter  dwelling  place  is  here  for  thee — 
And  greener  fields  than  in  yon  world  above, 
And  woman's  loveliness — and  passionate  love." 

"But,  list,  lanthe!  when  the  air  so  soft 
Fail'd,  as  my  pennon'd  spirit  leapt  aloft, 
Perhaps  my  brain  grew  dizzy — but  the  world 
I  left  so  late  was  into  chaos  hurl'd — 
Sprang  from  her  station,  on  the  winds  apart, 
And  roll'd,  a  flame,  the  fiery  Heaven  athwart. 
Methought,  my  sweet  one,  then  I  ceased  to  soar 
And  fell — not  swiftly  as  I  rose  before, 

[122] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaj —  CONTINUED 

But  with  a  downward,  tremulous  motion  thro' 
Light,  brazen  rays,  this  golden  star  unto! 
Nor  long  the  measure  of  my  falling  hours, 
For  nearest  of  all  stars  was  thine  to  ours — 
Dread  star!  that  same,  amid  a  night  of  mirth, 
A  red  Daedalion  on  the  timid  Earth." 

"We  came — and  to  thy  Earth — but  not  to  us 
Be  given  our  lady's  bidding  to  discuss: 
We  came,  my  love ;  around,  above,  below, 
Gay  fire-fly  of  the  night  we  come  and  go, 
Nor  ask  a  reason  save  the  angel-nod 
She  grants  to  us,  as  granted  by  her  God — 

But,  Angelo,  than  thine  grey  Time  unfurl'd 
Never  his  fairy  wing  o'er  fairier  world! 
Dim  was  its  little  disk,  and  angel  eyes 
Alone  could  see  the  phantom  in  the  skies, 
When  first  Al  Aaraaf  knew  her  course  to  be 

[123] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


A I  Aaraaf —  CONTINUED 

Headlong  thitherward  o'er  the  starry  sea — 
But  when  its  glory  swell'd  upon  the  sky, 
As  glowing  Beauty's  bust  beneath  man's  eye, 
We  paused  before  the  heritage  of  men, 
And  thy  star  trembled — as  doth  Beauty  then!" 

Thus,  in  discourse,  the  lovers  whiled  away 
The  night  that  waned  and  waned  and  brought  no  day. 
They  fell :  for  Heaven  to  them  no  hope  imparts 
Who  hear  not  for  the  beating  of  their  hearts. 


[124] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  F s    S.  O 


[Mrs.  Frances  Sargent  Osgood] 

THOU  wouldst  be  loved? — then  let  thy  heart 

From  its  present  pathway  part  not! 
Being  everything  which  now  thou  art, 

Be  nothing  which  thou  art  not. 
So  with  the  world  thy  gentle  ways, 

Thy  grace,  thy  more  than  beauty, 
Shall  be  an  endless  theme  of  praise, 

And  love — a  simple  duty. 


[125] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE 


Bridal  Ballad 

THE  ring  is  on  my  hand, 

And  the  wreath  is  on  my  brow; 

Satin  and  jewels  grand 

Are  all  at  my  command, 
And  I  am  happy  now. 

And  my  lord  he  loves  me  well; 

But,  when  first  he  breathed  his  vow, 
I  felt  my  bosom  swell — 
For  the  words  rang  as  a  knell, 
And  the  voice  seemed  his  who  fell 
In  the  battle  down  the  dell, 

And  who  is  happy  now. 

[126] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Bridal  Ballad — CONTINUED 

But  he  spoke  to  re-assure  me, 

And  he  kissed  my  pallid  brow, 
While  a  reverie  came  o'er  me, 
And  to  the  church-yard  bore  me, 
And  I  sighed  to  him  before  me, 
Thinking  him  dead  D'Elormie, 
"Oh,  I  am  happy  now!" 

And  thus  the  words  were  spoken, 

And  this  the  plighted  vow, 
And,  though  my  faith  be  broken, 
And,  though  my  heart  be  broken, 
Here  is  a  ring,  as  token 

That  I  am  happy  now! 

Would  God  I  could  awaken! 
For  I  dream  I  know  not  how! 

[127] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Bridal  Ballad — CONTINUED 

And  my  soul  is  sorely  shaken 
Lest  an  evil  step  be  taken, — 
Lest  the  dead  who  is  forsaken 
May  not  be  happy  now. 


[128] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  My  Mother 

[His  Mother-in-law,  Mrs.  Clemm] 

BECAUSE  I  feel  that,  in  the  Heavens  above, 

The  angels,  whispering  to  one  another, 
Can  find,  among  their  burning  terms  of  love, 

None  so  devotional  as  that  of  "Mother," 
Therefore  by  that  dear  name  I  long  have  called  you — 

You  who  are  more  than  mother  unto  me, 
And  fill  my  heart  of  hearts,  where  Death  installed  you 

In  setting  my  Virginia's  spirit  free. 

My  mother — my  own  mother,  who  died  early, 
Was  but  the  mother  of  myself;  but  you 

[129] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To   My   Mother — CONTINUED 

Are  mother  to  the  one  I  loved  so  dearly, 
And  thus  are  dearer  than  the  mother  I  knew 

By  that  infinity  with  which  my  wife 
Was  dearer  to  my  soul  than  its  soul-life. 


[130] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To  Helen 

["Helen"  was  Mrs.  Stannard,  whose  death  also  inspired  Lenore.] 

HELEN,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 

Like  those  Nicean  barks  of  yore, 

That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea, 
The  weary,  wayworn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 


On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 

Thy  Naiad  airs  have  brought  me  home 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

[131] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To   Helen — CONTINUED 

Lo !  in  yon  brilliant  window-niche 
How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand, 

The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand! 
Ah,  Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 
Are  Holy  Land! 


£132] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Lake — To 

IN  spring  of  youth  it  was  my  lot 

To  haunt  of  the  wide  world  a  spot 

The  which  I  could  not  love  the  less — 

So  lovely  was  the  loneliness 

Of  a  wild  lake,  with  black  rock  bound, 

And  the  tall  pines  that  towered  around. 


But  when  the  Night  had  thrown  her  pall 
Upon  that  spot,  as  upon  all, 
And  the  mystic  wind  went  by 
Murmuring  in  melody — 

[133] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Lake — To CONTINUED 

Then — ah  then  I  would  awake 

To  the  terror  of  the  lone  lake. 

Yet  that  terror  was  not  fright, 

But  a  tremulous  delight — 

A  feeling  not  the  jewelled  mine 

Could  teach  or  bribe  me  to  define — 

Nor  Love — although  the  Love  were  thine, 

Death  was  in  that  poisonous  wave, 

And  in  its  gulf  a  fitting  grave 

For  him  who  thence  could  solace  bring 

To  his  lone  imagining — 

Whose  solitary  sole  could  make 

An  Eden  of  that  dim  lake. 


[114] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Valley  of  Unrest 

ONCE  it  smiled  a  silent  dell 
Where  the  people  did  not  dwell ; 

They  had  gone  unto  the  wars, 
Trusting  to  the  mild-eyed  stars, 
Nightly,  from  their  azure  towers, 
To  keep  watch  above  the  flowers, 
In  the  midst  of  which  all  day 
The  red  sunlight  lazily  lay. 
Now  each  visitor  shall  confess 
The  sad  valley's  restlessness. 
Nothing  there  is  motionless — 
Nothing  save  the  airs  that  brood 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Valley  of  Unrest — CONTINUED 
Over  the  magic  solitude. 
Ah,  by  no  wind  are  stirred  those  trees 
That  palpitate  like  the  chill  seas 
Around  the  misty  Hebrides! 
Ah,  by  no  wind  those  clouds  are  driven 
That  rustle  through  the  unquiet  Heaven 
Uneasily,  from  morn  till  even, 
Over  the  violets  there  that  lie 
In  myriad  types  of  the  human  eye — 
Over  the  lilies  there  that  wave 
And  weep  above  a  nameless  grave! 
They  wave : — from  out  their  fragrant  tops 
Eternal  dews  come  down  in  drops. 
They  weep: — from  off  their  delicate  stems 
Perennial  tears  descend  in  gems. 


[136] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Happiest  Day,    The  Happiest  Hour 

THE  happiest  day — the  happiest  hour 

My  sear'd  and  blighted  heart  hath  known, 

The  highest  hope  of  pride  and  power, 
I  feel  hath  flown. 


Of  power!  said  I?  yes!  such  I  ween; 

But  they  have  vanish'd  long,  alas ! 
The  visions  of  my  youth  have  been — 

But  let  them  pass. 


And,  pride,  what  have  I  now  with  thee? 
Another  brow  may  even  inherit 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Happiest  Day,  the  Happiest  Hour — CONTINUED 
The  venom  thou  hast  pour'd  on  me — 
Be  still,  my  spirit! 

The  happiest  day — the  happiest  hour 
Mine  eyes  shall  see — have  ever  seen, 

The  brightest  glance  of  pride  and  power, 
I  feel — have  been: 

But  were  that  hope  of  pride  and  power 

Now  offer'd,  with  the  pain 
Even  then  I  felt — that  brightest  hour 

I  would  not  live  again: 

For  on  its  wing  was  dark  alloy, 

And,  as  it  fluttered — fell 
An  essence — powerful  to  destroy 

A  soul  that  knew  it  well. 

[138] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Catholic  Hymn 

AT  morn — at  noon — at  twilight  dim 
Maria !  thou  hast  heard  my  hymn ! 
In  joy  and  woe — in  good  and  ill — 
Mother  of  God,  be  with  me  still! 
When  the  hours  flew  brightly  by, 
And  not  a  cloud  obscured  the  sky, 
My  soul,  lest  it  should  truant  be, 
Thy  grace  did  guide  to  thine  and  thee ; 
Now,  when  storms  of  Fate  o'ercast 
Darkly  my  Present  and  my  Past, 
Let  my  Future  radiant  shine 
With  sweet  hopes  of  thee  and  thine ! 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To 

[Mrs.  Marie  Louise  Shew.] 

NOT  long  ago,  the  writer  of  these  lines, 

In  the  mad  pride  of  intellectuality, 

Maintained  "the  power  of  words" — denied  that  ever 

A  thought  arose  within  the  human  brain 

Beyond  the  utterance  of  the  human  tongue: 

And  now,  as  if  in  mockery  of  that  boast, 

Two  words — two  foreign  soft  dissyllables — 

Italian  tones,  made  only  to  be  murmured 

By  angels  dreaming  in  the  moonlit  "dew 

That  hangs  like  chains  of  pearl  on  Hermon  hill," 

Have  stirred  from  out  the  abysses  of  his  heart, 

[140] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To 


-CONTINUED 


Unthought-like  thoughts  that  are  the  souls  of  thought, 

Richer,  far  wilder,  far  diviner  visions 

Than  even  seraph  harper,  Israfel, 

(Who  has  "the  sweetest  voice  of  all  God's  creatures,") 

Could  hope  to  utter.    And  I !  my  spells  are  broken. 

The  pen  falls  powerless  from  my  shivering  hand. 

With  thy  dear  name  as  text,  though  bidden  by  thee, 

I  cannot  write — I  cannot  speak  or  think — 

Alas,  I  cannot  feel;  for  'tis  not  feeling, 

This  standing  motionless  upon  the  golden 

Threshold  of  the  wide-open  gate  of  dreams. 

Gazing,  entranced,  adown  the  gorgeous  vista, 

And  thrilling  as  I  see,  upon  the  right, 

Upon  the  left,  and  all  the  way  along, 

Amid  empurpled  vapours,  far  away 

To  where  the  prospect  terminates — thee  only. 


[Hi] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Evening  Star 

TWAS  noontide  of  summer, 

And  mid-time  of  night; 
And  stars  in  their  orbits, 

Shone  pale,  thro'  the  light 
Of  the  brighter,  cold  moon, 

'Mid  planets  her  slaves, 
Herself  in  the  Heavens, 

Her  beam  on  the  waves. 
I  gazed  awhile 
On  her  cold  smile; 
Too  cold — too  cold  for  me- 

There  pass'd,  as  a  shroud, 

A  fleecy  cloud, 

[142] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Evening  Star —  CONTINUED 

And  I  turn'd  away  to  thee, 

Proud  Evening  Star, 

In  thy  glory  afar, 
And  dearer  thy  beam  shall  be ; 

For  joy  to  my  heart 

Is  the  proud  part 
Thou  bearest  in  Heaven  at  night, 

And  more  I  admire 

Thy  distant  fire, 
Than  that  colder,  lowly  light. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Stanzas 


How  often  we  forget  all  time,  when  lone 
Admiring  Nature's  universal  throne; 
Her  woods — her  wilds — her  mountains — the  intense 
Reply  of  HERS  to  OUR  intelligence ! 

[BYRON,  The  Island.'] 


IN  youth  have  I  known  one  with  whom  the  Earth 
In  secret  communing  held — as  he  with  it, 
In  daylight,  and  in  beauty  from  his  birth: 
Whose  fervid,  flickering  torch  of  life  was  lit 
From  the  sun  and  stars,  whence  he  had  drawn  forth 
A  passionate  light — such  for  his  spirit  was  fit — 

[H4] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Stanzas —  CONTINUED 

And  yet  that  spirit  knew  not,  in  the  hour 
Of  its  own  fervour — what  had  o'er  it  power. 


Perhaps  it  may  be  that  my  mind  is  wrought 
To  a  fever  by  the  moonbeam  that  hangs  o'er, 
But  I  will  half  believe  that  wild  light  fraught 
With  more  of  sovereignty  than  ancient  lore 
Hath  ever  told — or  is  it  of  a  thought 
The  unembodied  essence,  and  no  more 
That  with  a  quickening  spell  doth  o'er  us  pass 
As  dew  of  the  night-time  o'er  the  summer  grass? 


Doth  o'er  us  pass,  when,  as  th'  expanding  eye 
To  the  loved  object — so  the  tear  to  the  lid 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

Will  start,  which  lately  slept  in  apathy? 
And  yet  it  need  not  be — (that  object)  hid 
From  us  in  life — but  common — which  doth  He 
Each  hour  before  us — but  then  only,  bid 
With  a  strange  sound,  as  of  a  harp-string  broken, 
To  awake  us — 'Tis  a  symbol  and  a  token 


Of  what  in  other  worlds  shall  be — and  given 

In  beauty  by  our  God,  to  those  alone 

Who  otherwise  would  fall  from  life  and  Heaven 

Drawn  by  their  heart's  passion,  and  that  tone, 

That  high  tone  of  the  spirit  which  hath  striven 

Tho'  not  with  Faith — with  godliness — whose  throne 

With  desperate  energy  't  hath  beaten  down ; 

Wearing  its  own  deep  feeling  as  a  crown. 

[146] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Spirits  of  the  Dead 

THY  soul  shall  find  itself  alone 

'Mid  dark  thoughts  of  the  grey  tomb-stone; 

Not  one,  of  all  the  crowd,  to  pry 

Into  thine  hour  of  secrecy. 


Be  silent  in  that  solitude, 

Which  is  not  loneliness — for  then 

The  spirits  of  the  dead,  who  stood 
In  life  before  thee,  are  again 

In  death  around  thee,  and  their  will 

Shall  overshadow  thee ;  be  still. 

[H7] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Spirits   of  the  Dead — CONTINUED 

The  night,  though  clear,  shall  frown, 
And  the  stars  shall  not  look  down 
From  their  high  thrones  in  the  Heaven 
With  light  like  hope  to  mortals  given, 
But  their  red  orbs,  without  beam, 
To  thy  weariness  shall  seem 
As  a  burning  and  a  fever 
Which  would  cling  to  thee  for  ever. 


Now  are  thoughts  thou  shalt  not  banish, 

Now  are  visions  ne'er  to  vanish; 

From  thy  spirit  shall  they  pass 

No  more,  like  dew-drop  from  the  grass. 

The  breeze,  the  breath  of  God,  is  still, 

And  the  mist  upon  the  hill 

Shadowy,  shadowy,  yet  unbroken, 

[148] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Spirits  of  the  Dead — CONTINUED 

Is  a  symbol  and  a  token. 
How  it  hangs  upon  the  trees, 
A  mystery  of  mysteries! 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Israfel 


And  the  angel  Israfel,  whose  heart-strings  are  a  lute,  and  who 
has  the  sweetest  voice  of  all  God's  creatures. — Koran. 


IN  Heaven  a  spirit  doth  dwell 
"Whose  heart-strings  are  a  lute;" 

None  sing  so  wildly  well 

As  the  angel  Israfel, 

And  the  giddy  Stars  (so  legends  tell) 

Ceasing  their  hymns,  attend  the  spell 
Of  his  voice,  all  mute. 

Tottering  above 

In  her  highest  noon, 

[150] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

The  enamoured  moon 
Blushes  with  love, 
While,  to  listen,  the  red  levin 
(With  the  rapid  Pleiads,  even, 
Which  were  seven,) 
Pauses  in  Heaven. 

And  they  say  (the  starry  choir 
And  the  other  listening  things) 

That  Israfeli's  fire 

Is  owing  to  that  lyre 

By  which  he  sits  and  sings — 

The  trembling  living  wire 
Of  those  unusual  strings. 

But  the  skies  that  angel  trod, 
Where  deep  thoughts  are  a  duty 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

Where  Love's  a  grown  up  God — 
Where  the  Houri  glances  are 

Imbued  with  all  the  beauty 
Which  we  worship  in  a  star. 

Therefore  thou  art  not  wrong, 

Israfeli,  who  despisest 
An  unimpassioned  song; 
To  thee  the  laurels  belong, 

Best  bard,  because  the  wisest ! 
Merrily  live,  and  long! 

The  ecstasies  above 

With  thy  burning  measures  suit — 

Thy  grief,  thy  joy,  thy  hate,  thy  love, 
With  the  fervour  of  thy  lute — 
Well  may  the  stars  be  mute ! 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

Yes,  Heaven  is  thine ;  but  this 
Is  a  world  of  sweets  and  sours; 
Our  flowers  are  merely — flowers, 

And  the  shadow  of  thy  perfect  bliss 
Is  the  sunshine  of  ours. 


If  I  could  dwell 
Where  Israfel 

Hath  dwelt,  and  he  where  I, 
He  might  not  sing  so  wildly  well 

A  mortal  melody, 
While  a  bolder  note  than  this  might  swell 

From  my  lyre  within  the  sky. 


[i53] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Song 

I  SAW  thee  on  thy  bridal  day — 

When  a  burning  blush  came  o'er  thee, 
Though  happiness  around  thee  lay, 

The  world  all  love  before  thee : 

And  in  thine  eye  a  kindling  light 

(Whatever  it  might  be) 
Was  all  on  Earth  my  aching  sight 

Of  Lovliness  could  see. 

That  blush,  perhaps,  was  maiden  shame — 

As  such  it  well  may  pass — 
Though  its  glow  hath  raised  a  fiercer  flame 

In  the  breast  of  him,  alas! 


[i54] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Song CONTINUED 

Who  saw  thee  on  that  bridal  day, 

When  that  deep  blush  would  come  o'er  thee, 
Though  happness  around  thee  lay; 

The  world  all  love  before  thee. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


To 


THE  bowers  whereat,  in  dreams,  I  see 
The  wantonest  singing  birds, 

Are  lips — and  all  thy  melody 
Of  lip-begotten  words — 

Thine  eyes,  in  Heaven  of  heart  enshrined, 

Then  desolately  fall, 
O  God !  on  my  funereal  mind 

Like  starlight  on  a  pall — 

Thy  heart — thy  heart ! — I  wake  and  sigh, 

And  sleep  to  dream  till  day 
Of  the  truth  that  gold  can  never  buy — 

Of  the  baubles  that  it  may. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Fairy-Land 

DIM  vales — and  shadowy  floods — 
And  cloudy-looking  woods, 
Whose  forms  we  can't  discover 
For  the  tears  that  drip  all  over 
Huge  moons  there  wax  and  wane — 
Again — again — again — 
Every  moment  of  the  night — 
Forever  changing  places — 
And  they  put  out  the  star-light 
With  the  breath  from  their  pale  faces. 
About  twelve  by  the  moon-dial, 
One  more  filmy  than  the  rest 
(A  kind  which,  upon  trial, 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Fairy-Land — CONTINUED 

They  have  found  to  be  the  best) 

Comes  down — still  down — and  down, 

With  its  centre  on  the  crown 

Of  a  mountain's  eminence, 

While  its  wide  circumference 

In  easy  drapery  falls 

Over  hamlets,  over  halls, 

Wherever  they  may  be — 

O'er  the  strange  woods — o'er  the  sea — 

Over  spirits  on  the  wing — 

Over  every  drowsy  thing — 

And  buries  them  up  quite 

In  a  labyrinth  of  light — 

And  then,  how  deep ! — O,  deep ! 

Is  the  passion  of  their  sleep. 

In  the  morning  they  arise, 

And  their  moony  covering 

[158] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Fairy-Land — CONTINUED 

Is  soaring  in  the  skies, 

With  the  tempests  as  they  toss, 

Like almost  anything — 

Or  a  yellow  Albatross. 
They  use  that  moon  no  more 
For  the  same  end  as  before — 
Videlicet  a  tent — 
Which  I  think  extravagant: 
Its  atomies,  however, 
Into  a  shower  dissever, 
Of  which  those  butterflies, 
Of  Earth,  who  seek  the  skies, 
And  so  come  down  again 
(Never-contented  things!) 
Have  brought  a  specimen 
Upon  their  quivering  wings. 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The  Coliseum 

TYPE  of  the  antique  Rome !    Rich  reliquary 
Of  lofty  contemplation  left  to  Time 
By  buried  centuries  of  pomp  and  power! 
At  length — at  length — after  so  many  days 
Of  weary  pilgrimage  and  burning  thirst, 
(Thirst  for  the  springs  of  lore  that  in  thee  lie,) 
I  kneel,  an  altered  and  an  humble  man, 
Amid  thy  shadows,  and  so  drink  within 
My  very  soul  thy  grandeur,  gloom,  and  glory! 

Vastness!  and  Age!  and  Memories  of  Eld! 
Silence!  and  Desolation!  and  dim  Night! 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The   Coliseum — CONTINUED 

I  feel  ye  now — I  feel  ye  in  your  strength — 
O  spells  more  sure  than  e'er  Judaean  king 
Taught  in  the  gardens  of  Gethsemane ! 
O  charms  more  potent  than  the  rapt  Chaldee 
Ever  drew  down  from  out  the  quiet  stars! 


Here,  where  a  hero  fell,  a  column  falls ! 

Here,  where  the  mimic  eagle  glared  in  gold 

A  midnight  vigil  holds  the  swarthy  bat! 

Here,  where  the  dames  of  Rome  their  gilded  hair 

Waved  to  the  wind,  now  wave  the  reed  and  thistle ! 

Here,  where  on  golden  throne  the  monarch  lolled, 

Glides,  spectre-like,  unto  his  marble  home, 

Lit  by  the  wan  light  of  the  horned  moon, 

The  swift  and  silent  lizard  of  the  stones ! 


[161] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The   Coliseum — CONTINUED 

But  stay !  these  walls — these  ivy-clad  arcades — 
These  mouldering  plinths — these  sad  and  blackened 

shafts — 

These  vague  entablatures — this  crumbling  frieze — 
These  shattered  cornices — this  wreck — this  ruin — 
These  stones — alas !  these  grey  stones — are  they  all — 
All  of  the  famed,  and  the  colossal  left 
By  the  corrosive  Hours  to  Fate  and  me? 


"Not  all" — the  Echoes  answer  me — "not  all! 

Prophetic  sounds  and  loud,  arise  forever 

From  us,  and  from  all  Ruin,  unto  the  wise, 

As  melody  from  Memnon  to  the  Sun. 

We  rule  the  hearts  of  mightiest  men — we  rule 

With  a  despotic  sway  all  giant  minds. 

We  are  not  impotent — we  pallid  stones. 

[162] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


The   Coliseum — CONTINUED 

Not  all  the  power  is  gone — not  all  our  fame — 
Not  all  the  magic  of  our  high  renown — 
Not  all  the  wonder  that  encircles  us — 
Not  all  the  mysteries  that  in  us  lie — 
Not  all  the  memories  that  hang  upon 
And  cling  around  about  us  as  a  garment, 
Clothing  us  in  a  robe  of  more  than  glory." 


[163] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Dreamland 

By  a  route  obscure  and  lonely, 
Haunted  by  ill  angels  only, 
Where  an  Eidolon,  named  NIGHT, 
On  a  black  throne  reigns  upright, 
I  have  reached  these  lands  but  newly 
From  an  ultimate  dim  Thule — 
From  a  wild  weird  clime  that  lieth,  sublime, 
Out  of  SPACE — out  of  TIME. 

Bottomless  vales  and  boundless  floods, 
And  chasms,  and  caves,  and  Titan  woods, 
With  forms  that  no  man  can  discover 
For  the  tears  that  drip  all  over ; 

[164] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Dream-land —  CONTINUED 

Mountains  toppling  evermore 
Into  seas  without  a  shore; 
Seas  that  restlessly  aspire, 
Surging,  unto  skies  of  fire; 
Lakes  that  endlessly  outspread 
Their  lone  waters — lone  and  dead, — 
Their  still  waters — still  and  chilly 
With  the  snows  of  the  lolling  lily. 

By  the  lakes  that  thus  outspread 
Their  lone  waters — lone  and  dead, — 
Their  sad  waters,  sad  and  chilly 
With  the  snows  of  the  lolling  lily — 
By  the  mountains — near  the  river 
Murmuring  lowly,  murmuring  ever, — 
By  the  grey  woods, — by  the  swamp 
Where  the  toad  and  the  newt  encamp,  — 
By  the  dismal  tarns  and  pools 

[165] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Dreamland —  CONTINUED 

Where  dwell  the  Ghouls, — 
By  each  spot  the  most  unholy — 
In  each  nook  most  melancholy,— 
There  the  traveller  meets  aghast 
Sheeted  Memories  of  the  Past — 
Shrouded  forms  that  start  and  sigh 
As  they  pass  the  wanderer  by — 
White-robed  forms  of  friends  long  given, 
In  agony,  to  the  Earth — and  Heaven. 

For  the  heart  whose  woes  are  legion 
'Tis  a  peaceful,  soothing  region — 
For  the  spirit  that  walks  in  shadow 
Tis — oh,  'tis  an  Eldorado ! 
But  the  traveller,  travelling  through  it, 
May  not — dare  not  openly  view  it! 
Never  its  mysteries  are  exposed 
To  the  weak  human  eye  unclosed; 

[166] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Dreamland — CONTINUED 

So  wills  its  King,  who  hath  forbid 
The  uplifting  of  the  fringed  lid; 
And  thus  the  sad  Soul  that  here  passes 
Beholds  it  but  through  darkened  glasses. 

By  a  route  obscure  and  lonely, 
Haunted  by  ill  angels  only, 
Where  an  Eidolon,  named  NIGHT, 
On  a  black  throne  reigns  upright, 
I  have  wandered  home  but  newly 
From  this  ultimate  dim  Thule. 


[167] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie 

THANK  Heaven !  the  crisis — 

The  danger  is  past, 
And  the  lingering  illness 

Is  over  at  last — 
And  the  fever  called  "Living" 

Is  conquered  at  last. 

Sadly,  I  know 

I  am  shorn  of  my  strength, 
And  no  muscle  I  move 

As  I  lie  at  full  length — 
But  no  matter ! — I  feel 

I  am  better  at  length. 


[168] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie — CONTINUED 

And  I  rest  so  composedly, 
Now,  in  my  bed, 

That  any  beholder 

Might  fancy  me  dead — 

Might  start  at  beholding  me, 
Thinking  me  dead. 


(•2) 


The  moaning  and  groaning, 
The  sighing  and  sobbing, 

Are  quieted  now, 

t 
With  that  horrible  throbbing 

At  heart: — ah,  that  horrible, 

Horrible  throbbing! 

\ 

f 

The  sickness — the  nausea — 

The  pitiless  pain — 
Have  ceased,  with  the  fever 


[169] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie — CONTINUED 
/ 

That  maddened  my  brain — 

With  the  fever  called  "Living" 

That  burned  in  my  brain. 

And  oh!  of  all  torture 

That  torture  the  worst 
Has  abated — the  terrible 

Torture  of  thirst 
For  the  naphthaline  river 

Of  Passion  accurst: — 
I  have  drunk  of  a  water 

That  quenches  all  thirst: — 

Of  a  water  that  flows, 
With  a  lullaby  sound, 

From  a  spring  but  a  very  few 
Feet  under  ground — 

£170] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie — CONTINUED 

From  a  cavern  not  very  far 
Down  under  ground. 

And  ah!  let  it  never 

Be  foolishly  said 
That  my  room  it  is  gloomy 

And  narrow  my  bed; 
For  man  never  slept 

In  a  different  bed — 
And,  to  sleep,  you  must  slumber 

In  just  such  a  bed. 

My  tantalized  spirit 

Here  blandly  reposes. 
Forgetting,  or  never 

Regretting  its  roses — 
Its  old  agitations 

Of  myrtles  and  roses ; 

[171] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie — CONTINUED 

For  now,  while  so  quietly 

Lying,  it  fancies 
A  holier  odour 

About  it,  of  pansies — 
A  rosemary  odour, 

Commingled  with  pansies — 
With  rue  and  the  beautiful 

Puritan  pansies. 

And  so  it  lies  happily, 

Bathing  in  many 
A  dream  of  the  truth 

And  the  beauty  of  Annie — 
Drowned  in  a  bath 

Of  the  tresses  of  Annie. 

She  tenderly  kissed  me, 
She  fondly  caressed, 

[172] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie — CONTINUED 

And  then  I  fell  gently 

To  sleep  on  her  breast 
Deeply  to  sleep 

From  the  heaven  of  her  breast. 

When  the  light  was  extinguished 

She  covered  me  warm, 
And  she  prayed  to  the  angels 

To  keep  me  from  harm — 
To  the  queen  of  the  angels 

To  shield  me  from  harm. 

And  I  lie  so  composedly, 

Now,  in  my  bed, 
(Knowing  her  love) 

That  you  fancy  me  dead — 
And  I  rest  so  contentedly, 

[173] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


For  Annie — CONTINUED 

Now,  in  my  bed, 
(With  her  love  at  my  breast) 

That  you  fancy  me  dead — 
That  you  shudder  to  look  at  me, 

Thinking  me  dead ; — 

But  my  heart  it  is  brighter 

Than  all  of  the  many 
Stars  in  the  sky, 

For  it  sparkles  with  Annie — 
It  glows  with  the  light 

Of  the  love  of  my  Annie — 
With  the  thought  of  the  light 

Of  the  eyes  of  my  Annie. 


[i74l 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Alone 

FROM  childhood's  hour  I  have  not  been 
As  others  were;  I  have  not  seen 
As  others  saw;  I  could  not  bring 
My  passions  from  a  common  spring. 
From  the  same  source  I  have  not  taken 
My  sorrow;  I  could  not  awaken 
My  heart  to  joy  at  the  same  tone; 
And  all  I  loved  7  loved  alone. 
Then — in  my  childhood,  in  the  dawn 
Of  a  most  stormy  life — was  drawn 
From  every  depth  of  good  and  ill 
The  mystery  which  binds  me  still : 
From  the  torrent,  or  the  fountain, 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


CONTINUED 

From  the  red  cliff  of  the  mountain, 
From  the  sun  that  round  me  rolled 
In  its  autumn  tint  of  gold, 
From  the  lightning  in  the  sky 
As  it  passed  me  flying  by, 
From  the  thunder  and  the  storm, 
And  the  cloud  that  took  the  form 
(When  the  rest  of  Heaven  was  blue) 
Of  a  demon  in  my  view. 


[176] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane 

KIND  solace  in  a  dying  hour! 

Such,  father,  is  not  (now)  my  theme — 
I  will  not  madly  deem  that  power 

Of  Earth  may  shrive  me  of  the  sin 
Unearthly  pride  hath  revell'd  in — 

I  have  no  time  to  dote  or  dream : 
You  call  it  hope — that  fire  of  fire! 
It  is  but  agony  of  desire: 
If  I  can  hope — O  God !  I  can — 

Its  fount  is  holier — more  divine — 
I  would  not  call  thee  fool,  old  man, 

But  such  is  not  a  gift  of  thine. 

[i77] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

Know  thou  the  secret  of  a  spirit 

Bow'd  from  its  wild  pride  into  shame. 
O  yearning  heart!    I  did  inherit 

Thy  withering  portion  with  the  fame, 
The  searing  glory  which  hath  shone 
Amid  the  jewels  of  my  throne, 
Halo  of  Hell !  and  with  a  pain 
Not  Hell  shall  make  me  fear  again — 

0  craving  heart,  for  the  lost  flowers 
And  sunshine  of  my  summer  hours ! 
The  undying  voice  of  that  dead  time, 
With  its  interminable  chime, 
Rings,  in  the  spirit  of  a  spell, 

Upon  thy  emptiness — a  knell. 

1  have  not  always  been  as  now : 
The  fever'd  diadem  on  my  brow 

[178] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

I  claim'd  and  won  usurpingly — 
Hath  not  the  same  fierce  heirdom  given 
Rome  to  the  Caesar — this  to  me? 

The  heritage  of  a  kingly  mind, 
And  a  proud  spirit  which  hath  striven 
Triumphantly  with  human  kind. 

On  mountain  soil  I  first  drew  life : 
The  mists  of  the  Taglay  have  shed 
Nightly  their  dews  upon  my  head, 

And,  I  believe,  the  winged  strife 

And  tumult  of  the  headlong  air 

Have  nestled  in  my  very  hair. 

So  late  from  Heaven — that  dew — it  fell 

('Mid  dreams  of  an  unholy  night) 
Upon  me  with  the  touch  of  Hell, 

[i79] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane —  CONTINUED 

While  the  red  flashing  of  the  light 
From  clouds  that  hung,  like  banners,  o'er, 
Appeared  to  my  half-closing  eye 
The  pageantry  of  monarchy, 
And  the  deep  trumpet-thunder's  roar 
Came  hurriedly  upon  me,  telling 

Of  human  battle,  where  my  voice, 
My  own  voice,  silly  child! — was  swelling 

(O!  how  my  spirit  would  rejoice, 
And  leap  within  me  at  the  cry) 
The  battle-cry  of  Victory! 

The  rain  came  down  upon  my  head 
Unshelter'd — and  the  heavy  wind 
Rendered  me  mad  and  deaf  and  blind. 

It  was  but  man,  I  thought,  who  shed 
Laurels  upon  me:  and  the  rush — 

[180] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

The  torrent  of  the  chilly  air 

Gurgled  within  my  ear  the  crush 
Of  empires — with  the  captive's  prayer — 
The  hum  of  suitors — and  the  tone 
Of  flattery  'round  a  sovereign's  throne. 


My  passions,  from  that  hapless  hour, 

Usurp 'd  a  tyranny  which  men 
Have  deem'd  since  I  have  reach'd  to  power, 
My  innate  nature — be  it  so : 

But  father,  there  liv'd  one  who,  then, 
Then — in  my  boyhood — when  their  fire 

Burn'd  with  a  still  intenser  glow, 
(For  passion  must,  with  youth,  expire) 

E'en  then  who  knew  this  iron  heart 

In  woman's  weakness  had  a  part. 

[181] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlan  e —  CONTINUED 

I  have  no  words — alas! — to  tell 
The  loveliness  of  loving  well ! 
Nor  would  I  now  attempt  to  trace 
The  more  than  beauty  of  a  face 
Whose  lineaments,  upon  my  mind, 

Are shadows  on  th'  unstable  wind : 

Thus  I  remember  having  dwelt 

Some  page  of  early  lore  upon, 
With  loitering  eye,  till  I  have  felt 
The  letters — with  their  meaning — melt 

To  fantasies — with  none. 

O,  she  was  worthy  of  all  love! 

Love — as  in  infancy  was  mine — 
'Twas  such  as  angel  minds  above 

Might  envy;  her  young  heart  the  shrine 
On  which  my  every  hope  and  thought 

[182] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  FOE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

Were  incense — then  a  goodly  gift, 

For  they  were  childish  and  upright — 
Pure — as  her  young  example  taught: 
Why  did  I  leave  it,  and,  adrift, 
Trust  to  the  fire  within,  for  light? 

We  grew  in  age — and  love — together, 
Roaming  the  forest,  and  the  wild; 

My  breast  her  shield  in  wintry  weather — 
And,  when  the  friendly  sunshine  smil'd 

And  she  would  mark  the  opening  skies, 

/  saw  no  Heaven — but  in  her  eyes. 

* 

Young  Love's  first  lesson  is — the  heart: 
For  'mid  that  sunshine,  and  those  smiles, 

When,  from  our  little  cares  apart, 
And  laughing  at  her  girlish  wiles, 

[183] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

I'd  throw  me  on  her  throbbing  breast, 

And  pour  my  spirit  out  in  tears — 
There  was  no  need  to  speak  the  rest — 

No  need  to  quiet  any  fears 
Of  her — who  ask'd  no  reason  why, 
But  turned  on  me  her  quiet  eye! 


Yet  more  than  worthy  of  the  love 
My  spirit  struggled  with,  and  strove, 
When,  on  the  mountain  peak,  alone, 
Ambition  lent  it  a  new  tone — 
I  had  no  being — but  in  thee: 

The  world,  and  all  it  did  contain 
In  the  earth — the  air — the  sea — 

Its  joy — its  little  lot  of  pain 
That  was  new  pleasure — the  ideal, 

£184] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

Dim  vanities  of  dreams  by  night — 
And  dimmer  nothings  which  were  real — 

(Shadows — and  a  more  shadowy  light!) 
Parted  upon  their  misty  wings, 

And,  so,  confusedly,  became 

Thine  image,  and — a  name — a  name! 
Two  separate — yet  most  intimate  things. 

I  was  ambitious — have  you  known 

The  passion,  father?    You  have  not: 
A  cottager,  I  mark'd  a  throne 
Of  half  the  world  as  all  my  own, 

And  murmur'd  at  such  lowly  lot — 
But,  just  like  any  other  dream, 

Upon  the  vapour  of  the  dew 
My  own  had  past,  did  not  the  beam 

Of  beauty  which  did  while  it  thro' 

[185] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

The  minute — the  hour — the  day — oppress 
My  mind  with  double  loveliness. 

We  walk'd  together  on  the  crown 

Of  a  high  mountain  which  look'd  down 

Afar  from  its  proud  natural  towers 

Of  rock  and  forest,  on  the  hills — 
The  dwindled  hills !  begirt  with  bowers, 

And  shouting  with  a  thousand  rills. 

I  spoke  to  her  of  power  and  pride, 

But  mystically — in  such  guise 
That  she  might  deem  it  nought  beside 

The  moment's  converse;  in  her  eyes 
I  read,  perhaps  too  carelessly — 

A  mingled  feeling  with  my  own — 
The  flush  on  her  bright  cheek,  to  me 

Seem'd  to  become  a  queenly  throne 

[186] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlan  e —  CONTINUED 

Too  well  that  I  should  let  it  be 
Light  in  the  wilderness  alone. 

I  wrapp'd  myself  in  grandeur  then, 
And  donn'd  a  visionary  crown — 
Yet  it  was  not  that  Fantasy 
Had  thrown  her  mantle  over  me — 
But  that,  among  the  rabble — men, 

Lion  ambition  is  chained  down — 
And  crouches  to  a  keeper's  hand — 
Not  so  in  deserts  where  the  grand — 
The  wild — the  terrible  conspire 
With  their  own  breath  to  fan  his  fire. 

Look  'round  thee  now  on  Samarcand ! 

Is  not  she  queen  of  Earth?  her  pride 
Above  all  cities?  in  her  hand 

Their  destinies?  in  all  beside 

[187] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlan  e —  CONTINUED 

Of  glory  which  the  world  hath  known 
Stands  she  not  nobly  and  alone? 
Falling — her  veriest  stepping-stone 
Shall  form  the  pedestal  of  a  throne — 
And  who  her  sovereign?    Timour — he 

Whom  the  astonished  people  saw 
Striding  o'er  empires  haughtily 

A  diadem'd  outlaw! 

O,  human  love!  thou  spirit  given, 
On  Earth,  of  all  we  hope  in  Heaven! 
Which  fall'st  into  the  soul  like  rain 
Upon  the  Siroc-wither'd  plain, 
And,  failing  in  thy  power  to  bless, 
But  leav'st  the  heart  a  wilderness! 
Idea!  which  bindest  life  around 
With  music  of  so  strange  a  sound, 

[188] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

And  beauty  of  so  wild  a  birth — 
Farewell !  for  I  have  won  the  Earth. 

When  Hope,  the  eagle  that  tower'd,  could  see 

No  cliff  beyond  him  in  the  sky, 
His  pinions  were  bent  droopingly — 

And  homeward  turn'd  his  soften'd  eye. 
'Twas  sunset:  when  the  sun  will  part 
There  comes  a  sullenness  of  heart 
To  him  who  still  would  look  upon 
The  glory  of  the  summer  sun. 
That  soul  will  hate  the  ev'ning  mist, 
So  often  lovely,  and  will  list 
To  the  sound  of  the  coming  darkness  (known 
To  those  whose  spirits  hearken)  as  one 
Who,  in  a  dream  of  night,  would  fly 
But  cannot,  from  a  danger  nigh. 

[189] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlan  e —  CONTINUED 

What  tho'  the  moon — the  white  moon 
Shed  all  the  splendour  of  her  noon, 
Her  smile  is  chilly,  and  her  beam, 
In  that  time  of  dreariness,  will  seem 
(So  like  you  gather  in  your  breath) 
A  portrait  taken  after  death. 
And  boyhood  is  a  summer  sun 
Whose  waning  is  the  dreariest  one — 
For  all  we  live  to  know  is  known, 
For  all  we  seek  to  keep  hath  flown — 
Let  life,  then,  as  the  day-flower,  fall 
With  the  noon-day  beauty — which  is  all. 
I  reached  my  home — my  home  no  more — 

For  all  had  flown  who  made  it  so. 
I  pass'd  from  out  its  mossy  door, 

And,  tho'  my  tread  was  soft  and  low, 
A  voice  came  from  the  threshold  stone 
Of  one  whom  I  had  earlier  known — 

[190] 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

O,  I  defy  thee,  Hell,  to  show 
On  beds  of  fire  that  burn  below, 
A  humbler  heart — a  deeper  woe. 

Father,  I  firmly  do  believe — 

I  know — for  Death,  who  comes  for  me 
From  regions  of  the  blest  afar, 

Where  there  is  nothing  to  deceive, 

Hath  left  his  iron  gate  ajar, 
And  rays  of  truth  you  cannot  see 
Are  flashing  thro'  Eternity 

I  do  believe  that  Eblis  hath 

A  snare  in  every  human  path — 

Else  how,  when  in  the  holy  grove 

I  wandered  of  the  idol,  Love, 

Who  daily  scents  his  snowy  wings 

With  incense  of  burnt  offerings 

From  the  most  unpolluted  things, 

[190 


THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 


Tamerlane — CONTINUED 

Whose  pleasant  bowers  are  yet  so  riven 
Above  with  trellis'd  rays  from  Heaven 
No  mote  may  shun — no  tiniest  fly — 
The  lightening  of  his  eagle  eye — 
How  was  it  that  Ambition  crept, 

Unseen,  amid  the  revels  there, 
Till  growing  bold,  he  laughed  and  leapt 

In  the  tangles  of  Love's  very  hair? 


[192] 


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